The Prolonged Endgame
by LYREC01
Summary: It's the end of Harry's fifth year and they're at the Ministry of Magic: Harry's alone with Bellatrix after she killed Sirius. Then Voldemort shows up, discovering Harry broke the Prophecy. What if, instead of wanting to kill Harry right at the spot, he decides Harry should get punished first? And what will happen when Dumbledore accidentally gives Voldemort another idea? No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:**

Okay, so I've had this idea in my head for nearly ten years now. But I never had time to write it down and since English isn't my first language I didn't feel like putting myself through extra work. Then again, I couldn't find a story like my idea (which is not slash). So here goes.

I want to stress English isn't my first language. It is much easier to read than to write in English, so I apologize in advance for spelling errors I might make (and the lack of a large vocabulary, as you are going to notice). Oh, and this story won't contain slash. It'll contain violence though. Don't get me wrong, I love Harry, but like a lot of people here, I intend to enjoy for the hero to get hurt… a little. Or a lot. I'm sorry (not). Hehe.

I'll start with the story from the books. I don't own JK's beautiful story and I don't intend to take credit for my added idea. Oh, and Harry and Voldemort might get out of character the way JK designed them. I apologize in advance for that as well.

* * *

 **Summary:**

It is Harry's fifth year. He and the gang are at the Ministry of Magic and Harry's alone with Bellatrix after she killed Sirius. Then Voldemort shows up, discovering Harry broke the Prophecy. What if, instead of wanting to kill Harry right at the spot, he decides Harry should get punished first? And what will happen when Dumbledore accidentally gives Voldemort another idea? No slash.

* * *

" _Potter, I am going to give you one chance!" shouted Bellatrix. "Give me the prophecy — roll it out toward me now — and I may spare your life!"_

" _Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!" Harry roared — and as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead. His scar was on fire again, and he felt a surge of fury that was quite unconnected with his own rage._

" _And he knows!" said Harry with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix's own. "Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?"_

" _What? What do you mean?" she cried, and for the first time there was fear in her voice._

" _The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?" His scar seared and burned. . . . The pain of it was making his eyes stream. . . ._

" _LIAR!" she shrieked, but he could hear the terror behind the anger now. "YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME — Accio Prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!"_

 _Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him._

" _Nothing there!" he shouted. "Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said, tell your boss that —"_

" _No!" she screamed. "It isn't true, you're lying — MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED — DO NOT PUNISH ME-"_

" _Don't waste your breath!" yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever. "He can't hear you from here!"_

" _Can't I, Potter?" said a high, cold voice. Harry opened his eyes. Tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring . . . Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move._

" _So you smashed my prophecy?" said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. "No, Bella, he is not lying. . . . I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind. . . . Months of preparation, months of effort . . . and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again. . . ."_

" _Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!" sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. "Master, you should know —"_

" _Be quiet, Bella," said Voldemort dangerously. "I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?"_

" _But Master — he is here — he is below —"_

 _Voldemort paid no attention._

"You have irked me too often, for too long, Harry," he whispered. " _Crucio._ "

It felt worse than the last time Voldemort had tortured Harry. Blinding, excruciating pain flowed through him. Every tissue in his body screamed for release, his scar burned past endurance. He wanted to it to end... to black out, to escape - be anywhere but here. He felt Voldemort's anger intensify through the curse and he screamed louder – then it finally stopped.

Panting and trembling, he realized he lay on the cold floor of the Atrium. His glasses were gone, his hand almost broke the wand he gripped tightly. He moaned when his scar gave another nasty sear.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," he heard above his head and his heart lighted up – Dumbledore!

"The Aurors are on their way —"

"By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!" spat Voldemort. He sent the Killing Curse at Dumbledore, but missed, instead hitting the security guards desk, which burst into flame.

Dumbledore flicked his own wand. The force of the spell that emanated from it was such that Harry felt his hair stand on end as it passed, and this time Voldemort was forced to conjure a shining silver shield out of thin air to deflect it. The spell, whatever it was, caused no visible damage to the shield, though a deep, gonglike note reverberated from it, an oddly chilling sound. . . .

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?" called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. "Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that killing you right now won't actually at into your demise, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly.

Harry looked puzzled from Dumbledore at Voldemort, who straightened his back and gave Dumbledore a calculated glare.

"And why would that be, old man?"

"Well, you made sure you could conquer death long ago, didn't you?"

"So you know," Voldemort whispered dangerously. "There will be no way of stopping me, Dumbledore, for I, Lord Voldemort, can't even be stopped by death."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, as he walked over to Voldemort calmly, as taking a late evening stroll, "that is, of course, if all your little treasures will keep intact. I'm afraid to say some of them didn't withstand destruction as well as you thought they would."

Voldemort hissed, a piercing cold hiss, and sent another Killing Curse. Dumbledore waved his wand. The statue of the Goblin came to live and shielded Dumbledore from the attack. Tiny pieces of the statue flew through the air, being broken from the impact, and landed like raindrops on the ground.

Harry gripped his head tightly and moaned again. All the while his scar had burned so fiercely, sending waves from Voldemort's anger through his whole body. He was sure his scar would break open any second.

Suddenly, the Atrium was full of people. Harry heard little shrieks, felt bodies tense up. He looked at Voldemort again, but the spot was clear. Voldemort had vanished .

And then, before he could comprehend what was happening, he heard Dumbledore yell something, but he couldn't understand. Did he yell his name? Somebody stood behind him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him of the ground.

"Ah-!" he screamed, the pain in his scar getting stronger again, as if it were possible. The next thing he knew everything went black; he was pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his ear-drums were being pushed deeper into his skull.

In his pain he had the weirdest experience, as if someone forced him through a very tight rubber tube. And then, the sensation stopped. He fell hard on pitch black grass; staggering sideways because of the strong hold on his wrist.

Somebody fell next to him and gave a little shriek. It was Bellatrix, who rolled up and towered above him.

"Master," she squealed and flung herself at Voldemort again. He stepped out of the way and gave her a look of disgust.

"That will be enough, Bella," he said. "Now go. You shall be dealt with tomorrow. I can't bear to the sight of you any longer."

Frightened, Bellatrix rose again and vanished in the dark.

Voldemort began walking, dragging Harry alongside with him through the cold, dark night. His vision was blurred. Not only from the building pain in his head, but his glasses were gone as well. His trembling legs felt like soup slices and he was having trouble keeping up with Voldemort, who was still dragging him towards an old, grotesque mansion.

They reached a door, Harry saw through his blurred vision. "Now, what to do you with you," he heard Voldemort whisper softly.

 _You could let me go,_ Harry thought against better judgement. The fear which knotted his insides painfully together, with the ever building headache, were telling him to be quiet.

Voldemort chuckled - a soft, cold, dangerous chuckle.

"I can't possibly let you go, Harry, as you might understand," he said and pushed Harry through the door by his arm, finally letting him go after. Harry fell on a cold stoned floor. He heard the door behind him lock.

"But, as it might turn out, I can't kill you either," Voldemort said, getting dangerously close at Harry, who tried to stand up while also backing down.

"Why not?" he asked. His breathing intensified when Voldemort stood right before him. He chuckled again.

"So eager to die all of a sudden, Harry?" Harry felt Voldemort's cold breath against his face. His wand traced over a lock of Harry's hair, pushing it aside. His other hand shot forwards, grabbing Harry's wand. He rolled it through his fingers and looked at Harry again.

"You won't be needing this in a while."

Harry felt terribly vulnerable, watching his wand get rolled around in Voldemort's hand.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked.

"Yes…" Voldemort hissed, "what should I do with you?

"You know, your dear old Headmaster brought me upon a thought," he said, while walking away from Harry, towards a large fireplace. With one wave of his wand flames loomed up, warming the cold environment. Voldemort waved for Harry to come closer.

Harry ignored the gesture. He wasn't going to sit with Voldemort by the fireplace, as if they were going to have a nice conversation. He saw Voldemort's red eyes narrowing with anger.

"Come, Harry," he whispered. "NOW!"

Harry slowly shook his head. Voldemort's patience, apparently, ran out. With one wave of his wand, Harry felt his legs getting in motion, towards Voldemort.

"I told you to come, Harry. Like I said a year ago, obedience is a virtue. A virtue I still have yet to teach you. _Crucio!"_

Harry screamed again. The pain was so all consuming, so unbearable, that his reality of time seemed to be gone. He stumbled on the ground again, convulsing on the cold floor. The pain didn't stop.

But Harry refused to beg; he didn't want to give Voldemort this satisfaction. His mind kept screaming for release though, as he crawled on the ground. After what seemed minutes, the pain finally subsided.

"Did you learn your lesson?" Voldemort smirked, still pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry didn't answer. Instead he glared at Voldemort, trying to get his breathing under control.

"I asked whether you learned your lesson. Answer me!"

Harry saw the blurry movement of Voldemort's wand; the pain was back. But this time, he didn't scream. His hands formed into fists, but he kept his arms steadily against his body.

"Do you want it to stop?" Harry heard, in a vague distance. "Do you want the pain to end? You know how, Harry…"

His head was surely going to burst open alongside his scar. "Nghh," he moaned, as the pain intensified. A vague laughter told him Voldemort wasn't getting bored of this little game.

"Beg, Harry… Beg for Lord Voldemort to stop the pain. I've got the time."

The pain was getting beyond endurance. He began to roll on the ground, twitching his legs and he screamed. In his agony, he heard himself yell through his screams.

"Stop!"

"Say please, Harry," said Voldemort softly, with his cold, high voice.

"Stop, please…"

The pain vanished slowly. Panting, Harry rolled over and pushed himself of the ground. The aches of the Cruciatus Curse rushed all over his body. He felt ill; he had actually begged for Voldemort to stop.

He turned to Voldemort, who had seated in one of the armchairs next to the fire. He saw through his blurred vision Voldemort's pitiless red eyes; saw that Voldemort knew what Harry was thinking.

"Very good, Harry," said Voldemort, his slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "I see you've learned."

He gestured to the remaining chair, telling Harry to sit.

"Now, as I was saying, before your insolence interrupted me, I might have to change my plans for you."

Harry kept standing. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort any further. Knowing he would face the Cruciatus Curse again for his defiance, Harry trembled again, but he wouldn't play along anymore. What was he talking about? Why all of a sudden had Voldemort decided not to kill him? Why keep toying with him, when all he ever wanted to do was getting rid of him?

"Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?" he asked.

"All in due time," Voldemort answered absently, while focusing on the wand circling through his fingers. There was work to be done. The Prophecy was destroyed, and the Ministry was aware of his return; not at all according plan. Months of preparations and months of efforts down the drain. He'd have to start over, reform his plan.

Plus, Dumbledore knew about his Horcruxes. How had he known? And how many were destroyed already? Voldemort cursed himself inwardly. Here he sat, toying with the boy, while he should attend to his hidden souls.

Voldemort looked up to where Harry was standing. Then, he rose and walked over to him. Something had occurred to him before; the boy's scar. Was it possible? Could he have accidentally made another?

Harry backed away. Annoyed, Voldemort grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head backwards, exposing the boy's throat. Oh, how he wished he could slice it open.

"What are you doing - !"

"Silence," Voldemort hissed, pulling even harder on Harry's hair. His eyes trailed over the boy's face, onto his scar.

"Could it be…" he whispered softly. He stretched his long index finger and brought it slowly to the scar.

Harry saw the finger getting closer and felt his scar burning up. "Don't," he said quietly, but Voldemort didn't listen. He felt the cold fingertip touch his scar.

Agonizing pain flowed through his head. Trying to pull away from Voldemort's grip, he kicked and grabbed Voldemort's wrist.

"Let – me – go," Harry moaned, while trying to pull Voldemort's finger away.

Voldemort watched Harry wrestle under his grip. The boy had confirmed his suspicion. Fresh anger rose through his body. So, he'd made another Horcrux. In no other than his arch enemy himself. How could this be?

He shoved Harry away from him and watched the boy fall unto the chair. Hatred flowed through him. He couldn't kill the boy now, not while a piece of his soul might host his head.

"Get up," Voldemort said icily, pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry felt his body rise, as if on invisible hand pulled him up. The invisible hand turned him towards the door.

"And walk," he heard Voldemort hiss from behind. His legs were dragging him through the hallway, onto the spiral staircase at the end. They descended a few flights of stairs, a long way down. The air was getting more cold, pressing Harry's lungs shut. His body trembled from fear and cold. A few times, Harry bumped against the wall; without his glasses he couldn't really see where he was going. Voldemort's invisible hand kept in line.

They halted by a big, intimidating door. Voldemort opened it with one wave of his wand.

"Get inside," he told Harry.

It was pitch black. Harry couldn't make out details, couldn't see anything in the room in front of him. He turned to Voldemort before stepping in, but Voldemort gave him a push. He tripped and fell yet again. He felt his skin break while gliding over the brick wall. His scar seared with pain from Voldemort's touch.

He heard the door slide into lock and the fading sounds of footsteps. And then, he was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry felt like he was sitting in this dark, cold room for ages. He'd tried to get some sleep, but he was too awake; too alarmed. The fear of Voldemort popping up any second to toy around with him again, was bursting against his chest.

He curled up against the cold and waited. He tried to listen for footsteps, coming back, but all he could gather was silence. Was Voldemort going to let him die in here? That would be very uncharacteristic, since he would probably wanted to watch the light dying from Harry's eyes, preferably at his hand.

 _Why hadn't he?_ Harry thought over and over. _What was professor Dumbledore talking about earlier? And why was Voldemort so interested at his scar?_

The dark was slowly coming down harder on Harry. He saw Dumbledore waltzing through the room of Requirement, joining hands with Voldemort. Together, they danced around the statues which had been standing in the Atrium at the Ministry.

Puzzled, he followed the dancing pair. Suddenly, Dumbledore was gone. He looked at Voldemort, who offered Harry his hand.

 _Take it,_ he said. Behind him Bellatrix appeared, making a gracious pirouette while giving her hand to Lucius Malfoy.

 _Come with us, Potter,_ Lucius said while lifting Bellatrix in the air.

 _Dance with us, little Harry,_ Bellatrix sang, using her baby-mock voice.

 _Now!_ said Voldemort, grabbing Harry's arm. _Or wake up._

 _Wake up, little Harry,_ Bellatrix sang again.

"Now!"

Harry shot awake. Somebody had lifted him up and thrown him against the wall. He felt the cold pierce through him, as if he'd been laying in ice. His body ached and his scar seared on his forehead.

"Nghh," he moaned. He gazed through blurred vision to a man, holding him by his shoulders.

"He is awake then?" he heard a woman say behind the man who was pressing him against the wall. "Welcome to the world of the living, little baby Potter."

"The Dark Lord requests your presence, Potter," the man said, pulling him forward. He sent Harry out of the little room. Harry felt something being pressed in his back, a sharp point of – a wand?

"Walk."

Trembling, Harry set a few paces and bumped against the stairwell. He heard the two people behind him laugh.

"Ah, having trouble seeing, little Harry?" Bellatrix said, as if she was talking to a small child.

 _Piss off,_ Harry thought, but kept quiet. Bellatrix Lestrange was too impulsive; it was best to just ignore her. Slowly he placed his foot on the first step and climbed up. The man with the wand pushed impatiently in his back.

"Move faster."

Harry tried to increase his pace. Gradually, the dark was making room for some light, until a stroke of light blinded him. The man gave another push and Harry stumbled into a room, the room with the fireplace where Voldemort had tortured him. He was the vague contours of a man from behind, hooded in a black cloak, standing faced to the warm flames. Slowly, the figure turned around.

"Ah, I see you brought our young guest," Voldemort said, "that will be all, Ackerly, Bella. Go now."

"Yes, master," said the man behind Harry, turning his head in a bow while shuffling away, Bellatrix following his example. Harry watched Voldemort wave his hand, and figured he wanted him to come closer. He wanted to refuse, but remembered Voldemort could make him come anyway, and so he stepped closer to the man who murdered his parents.

He heard Voldemort's soft chuckle.

"I see that the lesson I taught you the day before yesterday has still made an impression, hasn't it, Harry?" mocked Voldemort.

Harry didn't answer. He shivered silently from the heath of flames, warming his cold body. _Day before yesterday? How long had he been sleeping?_ Voldemort moved around him, getting awfully close behind Harry.

"Answer me," he whispered in his ear. Harry took a few steps forward, away from Voldemort and turned to face him.

"You seem to enjoy fooling around. What is the matter? Scared to actually finish me off?" Harry said, bracing for the inevitable punishment for his sudden outburst. He wasn't wrong.

" _Crucio."_

Harry felt the now known pain of his bones being set on fire. He collapsed on the ground, writhing in agony. His head was surely going to burst with pain now; he wanted to faint; even death would be welcome -

And then it stopped. He was shaking uncontrollably while lying on the floor. His body kept aching, even with the curse lifted.

"Tut-tut," said Voldemort disapprovingly, "you disappoint me. I guess it is your disgusting Gryffindor proudness you were so eagerly on your tongue. I shall have to get rid of that in time."

Harry scrambled to his feet. His head pounded and added to his already hazy vision. He managed to glare at Voldemort, channeling the hatred he felt through his eyes.

"Do not tempt me into putting you through another punishment, Harry. Surely you don't want me to hurt you again, do you?" Voldemort whispered coolly.

Harry kept staring, refusing to bow his head; refusing to give in Voldemort's insane little game.

"I won't beg again," Harry said, but Voldemort seemed amused.

"Such spirit you possess, but Lord Voldemort approves of bravery. You will need it." He stepped closer to harry, who tried not to back away. He halted dangerously close and gave an almost not understandable whisper.

"Do not disobey me again, Harry, because the consequences will be severe. Am I understood?"

Harry kept quiet and simply looked at Voldemort's snakelike face.

"Am I understood?" Voldemort hissed and grabbed Harry's chin. He flinched; his scar screamed for release and Harry pulled his head away.

"I see another punishment is in order then." Voldemort raised his want. " _Crucio!_ "

Harry had never been held under the Cruciatus Curse this long. After nearly slipping into insanity, the curse had finally stopped. Feverishly, Harry laid on a large, dark green sofa near the fire. His scar burned dully on his forehead, flames were dancing before his eyes.

From the lone window in the room, the setting sun was visible, telling everyone the evening was coming. Voldemort had taken place opposite of him, in a large armchair, looking at a trembling Harry while being deep in thought himself.

Harry looked back at him without seeing him; his eyes half closed. His body still ached, reliving the memories from a few hours earlier. After the first five minutes, Harry had screamed his throat sore. Then, he'd begged again until he finally had passed out. He felt betrayed by himself... He vaguely remembered Voldemort lifting him up; laying him on the sofa. Why had he even bothered? Didn't he hate Harry? Why did he suddenly care enough to give him a more comfortable place to recover?

Harry watched as Voldemort suddenly rose and disappeared out of sight. He felt tired. The flames welcomed him into a slumber and he drifted off, to a place where he didn't have to feel for a while; didn't need to think –

"Wake up, Harry," Voldemort whispered. Slowly Harry opened his eyes. The room was as dark as the first time he'd entered it. Voldemort's white face floated above him. Harry felt cold again. He saw Voldemort's arm stretch out to him, almost gently pushing him into a sitting position.

"I daresay you've learned your lesson now, haven't you? So, let's try this again.

"You will not disobey me. Am I understood?"

Harry shook his head, but stopped immediately. The pain in his head was too heavy. He hated this submissive state, but he was becoming too scared to get hit again. He felt nauseous.

"Am I understood?" Voldemort repeated with his dangerous, high voice.

"Yes," Harry muttered. He'd lost.

"Very good, Harry." Voldemort smirked and stood up right again. Harry followed his movements and tensed when he saw Voldemort whip out his wand. He heard Voldemort mutter a few unknown words. His vision slowly became sharper. The blurred contours of the room appeared more precise. His nausea subsided and the pain in his head reduced to a dull throbbing.

Voldemort repeated the unknown words. " _Oculi reparo, visus reddent ei dolorem suum."_

Harry blinked. His vision was as clear as when he was wearing glasses. He looked at the room, taking in the full environment. He then looked at Voldemort, who was done mumbling words and had taken place in the chair again. Stumped, Harry blinked again. His vision was still clear. - _Did Voldemort just restore his vision?_

"I can't have my little vessel bumbling around, now can I?" Voldemort explained, looking at Harry's puzzled face. It didn't clear things up.

"Vessel?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Voldemort, staring at Harry continuously with his red, murderous eyes. "As it turns out, you're suddenly very valuable to me. That is, of course, until I can find another way. Then, you'll be obsolete."

 _What are you talking about_ , Harry thought, but didn't dare to say out loud. Voldemort's expression darkened.

"You don't need to know," he answered. "All you've to remember, is to keep yourself intact, to obey my every command. Am I understood?"

Harry hesitated, but finally gave a small nod. He wasn't ready for another punishment. The endless questions remained. What did Voldemort mean with vessel? Why was he suddenly so valuable and did he have to stay intact? Had it something to do with his scar, something with the bond – the connection – he and Voldemort shared? What did Voldemort have to do?  
And what will happen now?

"You've an enormous curiosity, Harry Potter," Voldemort said softly, still watching Harry intently. "Probably another Gryffindor trait."

"Maybe if you'd stop looking inside my mind, you don't have to be disturbed by those traits," Harry said without thinking. He scolded inwardly. A strike of fear paralyzed his chest.

Voldemort scowled, and raised his wand.

Harry flinched. He closed his eyes; bracing himself. But the expected pain didn't come. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, looking at Voldemort's lipless smile. His wand was still raised.

"I will give you a chance, Harry, I will be merciful. All you need to do, is offer your sincerest apology. Make amends, Harry, and I might spare you another lesson."

Harry would have rather let Voldemort hurt him. Apologizing for his comment would be admitting defeat. He wished Voldemort would stop playing with him, or preferably, turn into dust.

Voldemort's patience was running thin, his red eyes told him. He should say something now. Should he just swallow his pride, admitting he was too weak to get tortured again, or take another session of horror?

"I won't," Harry decided, not wanting to play along anymore, not wanting to give Voldemort that satisfaction.

"As you wish."

But instead of firing the curse, Voldemort suddenly rose up from his chair and grabbed Harry tightly by his wrist. His scar was shouting again with agony.

"Aah-" Harry gasped, before getting hoisted up and shoved against the wall. Little stars twinkled before his eyes. He saw Voldemort's figure towering up before him and felt the strong grip Voldemort had on his collar.

"You'll come to finding out to regret this," Voldemort whispered in his ear. Harry tried to loosen his grip, and to his surprise, Voldemort let go, but gripped Harry's hand instead. His eyes studied the imprint Umbridge had left on him.

 _I must not tell lies._

Another lipless smile slid on his face. "I see you've provided me the ultimate idea. For every misstep you take, for every overstepped _mark,_ you'll will receive one from me. A little reminder, in case you think about defying me again."

He swung Harry's hand around, until he stood faced against the wall. He felt a white-hot strike against his back; heard his robe tear up.

"What are you doing – aah!"

Tears sprang involuntary in his eyes as the white-hot pierce grew steeper. He heard Voldemort whisper – " _flagellum cruciatu" –_ and suddenly, his back was on fire. The sensation of a hundred whips, hitting him over and over. He screamed and struggled, but felt Voldemort push him closer to the wall. Harry fell through his knees, and rest his head against the cold bricks.

Slowly, the burning pain subsided. Harry panted heavily. He sensed Voldemort move closer to him, bending to reach Harry's eyelevel. The next moment, Voldemort had Harry's chin in his hand. He groaned when his scar gave a particular nasty sting.

"Remember this well, Harry," said Voldemort softly, burning his red eyes into the green, slightly watered ones. "And now, what do we say?"

Harry shivered and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

* * *

 **Note:**

I don't mind Harry with glasses, but since he'd lost them and I didn't want for him to be blind all time while being in Voldemort's clutches, I let Voldemort restore his vision. I notice them getting out of character, but I kind of have to, otherwise Voldemort will kill Harry. I'm sorry!

Tell me what you think about it so far, please ;-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:**

Wow, thanks for following and favoring this story. I hadn't expected that. And thanks for the reviews. I'll try and post a chapter at least once a week.

* * *

Apparently, his apology satisfied the Dark Lord. He let go of Harry's chin, but seized his neck and shoulder firmly.

"Get up," said Voldemort and began to stand himself. Harry followed him; his back feeling sore and painful. Voldemort let him go and made a wave with his wand. Harry felt his robes getting repaired, forming painfully around his body.

"Follow me," said Voldemort, while sliding towards an semi-circular arc next to the fireplace. Harry's legs trembled a bit while he shuffled behind Voldemort, following him to, by the looks of it, a large dining room. The space was filled with a huge, mahogany table full of candles, plates and dishes. The room was lit by a few lanterns, attached to the red painted wall, and the candlesticks on the table. On each side of the table stood a red dining chair, inviting guest to sit comfortably.

Voldemort waved at a chair; it slid away from the table so Voldemort could sit. After he did, the chair brought him closer to the dining table. Voldemort pointed his wand at the remaining chair. It didn't move, but Harry got the message. He was to sit down as well.

Harry looked at the engraved, gold plate and cutlery and reluctantly sat down as well. The plate started to fill itself immediately, making the dishes and bowls on the table filled with food quite unnecessary.

"Eat," demanded Voldemort. Harry looked from his plate to Voldemort's face and suppressed a shiver when his red, narrowed eyes bore into his own. At first, he didn't want to eat with Voldemort across the table, but the hunger took over his will. Voldemort on the other hand, didn't eat. He watched Harry's every movement with a thoughtful gaze. Harry tried to ignore him; feeling a bit awkward as Voldemort kept staring at him.

 _Do you mind?_ Harry thought while cutting a little piece of potato. He brought it to his mouth and looked up to Voldemort again. His lipless mouth curled up in a humorless laugh.

"Be careful, Harry. You're a thought away from getting marked again," said Voldemort and leaned closer to Harry, "and you don't want that to happen, now do you?"

Harry didn't answer; instead he focused on his plate again. What would everyone say when they found out he was dining with Voldemort right now? He imagined Mad Eye Moody berating barks about naively accepting food from Voldemort, Hermoine's upset gasps, Ron's looks of disgusted astonishment. He missed them; missed them so much, it ached. He put down his fork.

"Are you finished?" asked Voldemort. Harry nodded; he felt nauseous.

"Good. Now, Harry, I'll explain some rules to you."

Harry looked up. _Rules?_ Voldemort smiled again.

"From now on, you will address me as 'my lord', understood?"

Harry gave him a bewildered look.

"Answer me," whispered Voldemort dangerously, his red eyes captivating Harry's. He felt sick. No way, no way in the world would he address Voldemort as his lord. He'd already begged, apologized and obeyed enough, this was getting too much.

"You have lost it," said Harry shakenly. _You murderous, sick piece of –_ "Ah!"

His scar burned to no end. His hand shot to his forehead, his vision became blurry again. A hazy, black figure stormed towards him. He felt his chair getting removed, felt the blow from the floor against his shoulder. He was trapped in the anew agonizing world of fear.

 _Please, don't,_ Harry thought when he felt his robe getting torn apart again. The familiar sensation of white hot strikes made him gasp; he rolled over the floor, away from Voldemort's whipping curse. To his surprise, the pain stopped. With his hand still on his forehead, he looked up through pinned eyes at Voldemort, who towered above him. His scar still felt like it was going to rip open any second.

Slowly, his vision came back to him. He saw Voldemort's outstretched wand, pointing at him. His breathing was heavy and uneven.

"I will give you one last chance, Harry," Voldemort said finally, stepping dangerously closer. Harry backend away over the floor. "One last chance to beg for forgiveness. Beg for Lord Voldemort. _Now._ "

Harry felt exhausted; close to giving up. This was getting him nowhere. He let escape another breath of fear and closed his eyes.

"Please forgive me," said Harry, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. He paused, swallowed all his pride and pinched his eyes more tightly. " _My lord."_ He spat out.

"It will do for now," answered Voldemort and waved his hand. Harry felt his body rise, as if an invisible hand pulled him up. He opened his eyes and glared at Voldemort; hating him with every fiber in his body.

"Furthermore," said Voldemort, as though there had been no interruption, "you'll obey my every command. Understood?"

"Yes," answered Harry. When it didn't look like Voldemort would continue, he added " _my lord._ "

"Very good, Harry," whispered Voldemort, his nostrils dilating with excitement. "You might be not so obstinate after all.

"Now, for the house rules," Voldemort continued, waving at Harry for him to follow him, "since you're my little guest here, you'll behave like one. You are not to wander around. I will show you your room. You are to stay there. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal," answered Harry, keeping his robe together before they could fall off. He sensed Voldemort seeing this little act, because suddenly his robe was knitting together again.

"Be careful, Harry. I'm offering you a more comfortable place to stay, I can easily take that away."

Harry kept silent, but Voldemort didn't wait for an answer this time. He strode towards the staircase, and Harry followed. They went up this time, taking five flights of stairs, before halting for a yet another big, heavily engraved door. Voldemort waved his hand; unlocking the door. A long corridor became visible. Voldemort waited until Harry stepped through and then locked the door. Suddenly, the door shrank until it wasn't visible anymore.

Harry felt extremely vulnerable again, he knew he couldn't escape anyway, still a vanishing door didn't make him feel any better.

Voldemort started walking again. After a little moment of doubt, Harry followed. The corridor was much longer than Harry initially thought. They seemed to walk for an half hour. Finally, the reached their destination. Another door appeared which Voldemort unlocked, again with a single wave of his hand.

"Enter," he demanded and Harry obeyed. He stepped into a large, welcoming bedroom. This room was, too, lit by lanterns attached to the wall. On his left, Harry spotted a king-sized bed. Next to it stood a desk, covered with books and parchment. On the other side of the room stood several bookcases, also covered with books. There was one window, decorated with snake-like bars.

"You'll find a bathroom behind that door," said Voldemort, while pointing to the wall, were another door appeared.

"Meals will be provided for you. My faithful death eaters will fetch you for the evening diners, that you will attend with me. Understood?"

"Yes," answered Harry silently. He still couldn't believe what was happening. Ever since he was one year old, Voldemort had tried to kill Harry. Now, he was to stay in Voldemort's mansion and be treated as a guest.

"You will show Lord Voldemort some gratitude, won't you?" The imminent undertone was undeniable. Harry stared at him, not really sure how he was feeling. It still dazed him, standing here with Voldemort, who was showing him his accommodation; a comfortable room instead of the dungeon he'd slept in before. At the same moment, he felt anger, for getting told how he should behave, like he was a child, by no other than the man who murdered his parents.

The silence was knotting his insides painfully together; he felt Voldemort's building anger radiate against him, his scar seared with additional nasty burn. It wasn't easy to give in Voldemort's will; to play along with this sick game, but at the same time, Harry didn't want to provoke Voldemort any further. So, he swallowed again, letting out a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said. It didn't calm Voldemort's anger, but to Harry's relieve, he wasn't getting tortured either.

"You can show me your appreciation by behaving, Harry," he said, while stepping alarmingly close to Harry again. "You will show respect to me, and to my death eaters. Any misdoing will be severely punished."

"Understood," answered Harry, before Voldemort could say it himself.

"Good." Voldemort turned around and the door they went through before, appeared again. He strode through the opening, walking out of sight. The door vanished behind him.

Harry blew a long breath and collapsed on the bed. Without removing his robes, he closed his eyes and fell asleep immediately.

* * *

It was dark when Harry opened his eyes. He felt like he could sleep for an eternity, but a nasty feeling crept up his mouth; his throat felt raw. Parched, he got up and stumbled to the bathroom Voldemort had pointed to him. He ignored the beautiful, grotesque bathtub and went straight for the sink.

He splashed cold water in his face, and shivered. Everything was cold around him. After drinking liters of water, he considered the bathtub. He wouldn't mind getting warmed up by relaxing, hot water.

Almost two hours later, Harry got up and dressed himself with the clothes he found on a stool next to the desk. It looked similar to his school robes. The fabric felt soft, almost silky, and warm around his still aching body. Thoughts of his friends, of Sirius, pained his brains. He shut them out; trying not to feel, if only for a second.

What was Voldemort planning for him now? He still felt scared, wondering what will happen next. He stepped into bed, and automatically went for his glasses. _Oh right, Voldemort restored my vision. This is so weird._

If he hadn't felt so scared and angry, and more importantly, extremely tired, he might have tried to sleep again, before the headache was getting stronger.

"Wake up, Potter!"

Harry shot awake. He looked right into Bellatrix Lestrange's face. It was dusk already, as his room was dim lit by the twilight from outside his window.

"Get away from me," said Harry angrily. He stepped out of bed and backend away from Bellatrix. She cackled her annoying, insane laugh.

"Oh, but little baby Harry, the Dark Lord requests your presence for diner. You ungrateful little piece of half-blood swine," she added.

Diner? Was it evening already? Harry groaned inwardly. He could do for a long time without Voldemort. Bellatrix went for his wrist, but Harry pulled his arm away.

"Fine," he said. "I know how to walk myself."

Bellatrix looked like she could curse him any minute, but she didn't do anything. _Probably instructed not to touch me_ , Harry thought and gave her an extra defiant stare. He watched her struggle, but then she started to walk towards the appearing door. Harry followed.

"I shall have to inform the Dark Lord about your rudeness," she said, her baby-mock voice was gone.

"You do that," said Harry in return, trying not to look scared. She cackled with her deranged laugh.

They reached downstairs, where Voldemort stood by the fireplace. Harry's scar prickled painfully again. Bellatrix took a deep bow.

"My lord," she said and pushed Harry, while bowing, forward. Harry halted himself, not wanting to stand so close to Voldemort. He turned around and inspected him.

"Thank you, Bella," he said, not taking his eyes of Harry. "I trust he behaved?" Harry could almost feel Bellatrix' smirk rising up.

"Little Potter possesses a smart mouth, my lord," she answered. He was yet again in trouble, Voldemort's red merciless eyes told him so. Waves of fear twisted through his stomach.

"I see," Voldemort said. Harry looked away, getting uneased by Voldemort's obsessive stares. "That will be all, Bella."

She took another deep bow and left the room.

"Tell me, Harry, what was my first demand?" asked Voldemort and grabbed Harry by his collar. He led him to the armchairs, next to the fire. There, he gave a push and Harry fell down.

"To call you my lord," answered Harry obediently. He watched as Voldemort took a sit opposite of him.

"Before that."

Harry relived the torture session he'd went through the first night Voldemort had abducted him. He suppressed a shiver. _Obedience is a virtue_ , rhymed through his mind.

"Ah yes, I see you remember," whispered Voldemort. "And yet, when I told you to behave, to present yourself as a grateful guest, you disobeyed. Didn't I make clear to you, to treat my death eaters with respect?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead, he kept looking at Voldemort, not wanting to show defeat by looking away. Voldemort gave a soft, humorless chuckle.

"Tell me, Harry, what did I promise you for any misdoing?"

"Any misdoing would be severely punished," Harry said quietly. He hated how weak his voice sounded. Hated how sick and humiliated he felt. Voldemort rose from the chair and stepped closer. He braced himself for another mark, but Voldemort shook his head calmly.

"You will not only be marked, Harry. You will feel my wrath a little more steeper than that," said Voldemort with his high, cold voice. Harry watched him move, pushing himself apprehensively tighter in his chair.

"I will show you mercy. You can decide what your punishment will be."

Voldemort's face was now inches away from Harry's. Despite his fear, he gave Voldemort a look of hatred. How on earth was he supposed to respond to this? He wasn't going to suggest anything, asking him to punish him. Voldemort started to laugh, a soft, maniacally laugh.

"I will let you think about it, Harry. Think hard, and then beg me for your punishment," said Voldemort. He sat down again and rolled his wand lazily through his long, white fingers. "First, we have other business to attend to."

Harry was taking deep, calming breaths and ignored the pain in his head.

"Like I told you before, I cannot kill you anymore. Not for the time being, anyway," he started. Without thinking, Harry interrupted him.

"Yeah, because I'm some sort of vessel?"

"Exactly, Harry. You must have experienced a connection between us these past few months."

Harry thought back to what Snape had said, why he'd to learn Occlumency. It seemed like another lifetime ago. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Have you never wondered what this connection means?" continued Voldemort, "well, of course you have. I can see the questions in your worthless mind. A worthless mind I'll have to invade, I'm afraid, to learn everything what you might already know, what that old senile fool might have told you."

Harry shifted in his chair. An unpleasant premonition fell down upon him. He remembered his Occlumency lessons, how Snape had penetrated his mind, how he had never been ready.

 _Clear your mind_ , Harry thought in an idle, failing attempt. _Don't let him in._ What secrets could be uncovered if Voldemort were to turn his mind inside out? _Think of nothing, think of nothing…_

"You are familiar with the experience, I see. Resisting me will be useless, Harry," said Voldemort and raised his wand.

 _Think of nothing, think of nothing—_

" _Legilimens!"_

The room swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings. He stood before Dumbledore's desk, Harry looked up at him — they were very close together — and Dumbledore's clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry's face. At once, Harry's scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again. He felt the same unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong hatred again so powerful, he would like nothing better than to strike into the man before him.

The scene changed. Harry was standing with Fred, George, Ginny and Ron, listening through Extendable Ears. He heard Moody's voice in a vague distance – " _the boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. . . . Obviously, Potter doesn't realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him-"_

The scene changed again. Colors whirled before his eyes, reminding him vaguely of the large kitchen in 12 Grimmauld Place, were he had a conversation with Sirius.

" _What's he after apart from followers?"_

" _Stuff he can only get by stealth . . . like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."_

The whirling stopped and the features of the kitchen became more sharp now. Harry sat next to Sirius, with Snape across the table.

" _Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?"_

" _Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea,"_ sounded Snape smoothly. _"You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"_

Suddenly, the kitchen disappeared from Harry's retina. Harry was still at Grimmauld Place, facing the window in his and Ron's bedroom, watching snow now falling thickly outside.

" _Well, that was a bit stupid of you_ ," Ginny's voice sounded through his ears, _"seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."_

Ginny's face came into view. He heard himself speak. _"I forgot."_

" _Lucky you,"_ Ginny echoed.

" _I'm sorry . . . so do you think I'm being possessed, then?"_

" _Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?_

" _Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"_

"No," he heard himself answer.

" _Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you. When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."_

Suddenly, Voldemort's snake-like face replaced Ginny's. He was back in the room with Voldemort, sitting across him; his red eyes watching him observingly.

"Interesting," Voldemort said, almost not understandable. Harry felt exhausted. Getting his mind penetrated by Voldemort was so much more worse than Snape had done. He panted, while gripping the rug of his chair extra tight. He wished that Voldemort had seen enough. His scar was burning past endurance now; Harry tried his best not scream when another painful strike seared through the old wound.

He looked up at Voldemort's face and flinched. His red eyes abnormally narrowed, filled with anger. What had Voldemort seen that angered him this much?

"Who is that girl?" hissed Voldemort dangerously.

"Nggh," moaned Harry, unable to keep silent when his scar seared again. He closed his eyes, trying to shut off the pain.

"How come this girl experienced possession by me, while I have never met her?" Harry heard Voldemort ask. "Answer me. Now! _Legilimens!"_

Another film flickered before Harry's eyes. It stopped with the image of Ginny, lying unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets. This time, his vision was blurred and Harry vaguely remembered the Basilisk's poison, spreading through his body. He saw the younger version of Voldemort, the sixteen year old Tom Riddle, and a whirl of red and gold, flashing before his eyes. A small, dark diary fell in his lap. The Basilisk's fang came into view. Harry watched as the fang sank into the diary, followed by the blinding pain from his scar. Riddle's screams were ringing through his ears…

He heard another high-pitched squeal, right above him. He opened his eyes and stared into Voldemort's face, with the ceiling in the background. He didn't remember falling out of his chair. Voldemort stood above him, looking more insane than ever. Harry backend away hastily, and crouched behind the chair. He quickly rose when he sensed Voldemort coming closer. Stumbling, he moved around the chair, stepping away from the sight of Voldemort, nearly invisible due to the blinding pain in his scar. He felt something hard slam against his back; he'd backend to the wall. Harry breathed hard, as though he'd been running.

He was trapped. Unwillingly, he opened his eyes. Voldemort's face was only inches away from Harry's. Anxiously, he waited for his next move. Voldemort raised his wand, poked it at Harry's forehead – at his scar – and moved a little closer.

"So, you destroyed my _Horcrux_?" whispered Voldemort in a dangerous, deranged voice. Harry could almost feel the words pressing to the skin of his face. His scar was burning so fiercely, he thought it was going to rip open any second now, though he didn't dare to close his eyes.

"H-horcrux?" he stuttered and cringed when Voldemort gave his head an extra hard poke. His insides froze with fear.

"Silence!" hissed Voldemort. Harry swallowed hard, the tension was getting unbearable. His legs started to tremble heavily. His chest went up and down with unsteady breaths. He felt the air getting sucked out his lungs, twisting them painfully together.

"You are going to regret this, Harry. _Crucio!"_

* * *

 **Note:**

Maybe I ought to write what Dumbledore, Hermoine and Ron are doing, but I always skip these parts when reading fanfictions myself. It'd probably be welcoming, though, next to all this Harry and Voldemort violence…


	4. Chapter 4

Harry didn't know how long he'd been put under Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse. It had felt like an eternity though. Voldemort had finally stopped when Harry was at the edge of his sanity. Or maybe, he had fainted before that; he didn't quite remember. All he knew was waking up, in the same icy, depressing dungeon he'd been chucked in before, his throat parched and sore, and his body still aching from the Cruciatus Curse.

He vaguely remembered Voldemort's cold, high laugh, his own pleading, and his still burning scar, which had tried to hurt Harry even harder than the curse had done. The rest of his hazy memory was pain; endless, excruciating pain. He didn't even really remember anymore why Voldemort had put him through it. Something with a diary – Riddle's diary? – or horcrux, as he'd called it.

Harry traveled from dark to consciousness, while lying on the cold floor. In the brief moments he was awake, he was shivering; feeling feverish and he couldn't stop wincing and moaning from the pain in his scar. His hand glided over his forehead, as though he tried to iron it flat.

Nightmares haunted him in the moments the dark had taken over; reliving Voldemort's anger again and again. He wasn't sure how long he could take this anymore.

After what seemed days, a blinding light appeared, from the opened door of his cellar. He tried to sit up right, but fell back against the wall, his head pounding warningly. He expected to hear Bellatrix' baby mock voice any moment, but to his surprise it wasn't her who'd opened his door.

Lucius Malfoy stood before him. He didn't look to well himself; more pale than Harry remembered him, his long, white hair hanging bleak around his face. He held a tray with food and water and dumped it on the ground. Harry's stomach growled, and his throat forced him to pick up the water. He looked at Malfoy again, who began to shut the door. Harry didn't mind; he would rather be left alone anyway.

This little ritual went on for days. Harry began to lose track of time. He caught himself longing to the bedroom Voldemort had initially planned for him, where he could sleep comfortably and take long, warm baths. Why was he yearning for that bedroom, while even Privet Drive sounded like heaven to him right now?

The only contact Harry had with the outside world, was Voldemort's mood swings he felt through his scar. He knew exactly when Voldemort was pleased, or enraged.

 _Something good must have happened right know,_ Harry thought, when he felt a delightful, joyous sensation in his stomach, which had nothing to do with his own feelings, as he was as depressed as he could ever be. _Let this all please end soon. Let Voldemort find another way… make him end me. I'd be finally able to see Sirius again… or my parents…_

As if on cue, the door opened again. This time, it wasn't Malfoy standing in the doorway. Harry looked at a man he didn't recognize. He tensed when the man whipped out his wand and pointed it at him.

"The Dark Lord requested your presence, Potter," the man spat. "Get up. Now."

Harry did, trying to stand upright on his trembling legs. He still felt feverish and, though he didn't want to admit it, weak. The man waited for Harry to step across and closed the door behind him.

Harry, apparently, didn't walk fast enough. The man grabbed his wrist and dragged him upstairs. He was close to not caring anymore, while struggling idly to the man's firm grip. They reached the living room, with the fireplace and the armchairs Harry began to dread. Too many memories of horrors whirled through his mind. The man shoved him in one of the chairs and disappeared again.

Voldemort, however, was nowhere to be seen. Harry let go a relieved breath. The fire felt welcoming, warming up his quivering body. He was close to dozing off, when he heard something rustle from behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know who was standing behind him; his scar already told him.

Voldemort appeared, walking around the chair Harry sat in. His merciless eyes gazed upon him, as he sat down opposite of him. Harry had followed him with his eyes, but looked away when the silent staring contest began. The silence was almost deafening. Harry doubted whether Voldemort wanted him to say something, but after taking a quick glance at his face, he decided not to. Though Voldemort seemed to be calm now, the insane anger Harry had experienced still lingered in his eyes, as if it could burst out any second again. He felt the hatred radiating towards him.

 _Let it be over soon. Death will be nothing compared to this._

After what seemed almost a half an hour, did Voldemort finally speak.

" _Don't think for a second that I'm finished with you, Harry_ ," he hissed. Harry had the strange feeling he was speaking in Parseltongue. He nodded compliantly, feeling in a streak of fear that Voldemort wanted him to.

" _It appears that tormenting you, won't do any damage to my horcrux inside you. This pleases me."_ Voldemort hissed again, keeping Harry captivated in his intent glare.

Harry didn't know what he was talking about, but one thing was for sure, this wasn't good news. Though it didn't seem like Voldemort was going to kill him anytime soon, Harry felt bemused about the future ahead of him. Finally, he allowed himself to ask Voldemort about his next move.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked apprehensively. He tried hard not to swallow, not to let Voldemort notice his suppressed shivers. Deja vu.

Voldemort didn't answer. He kept looking at harry as though he was lost in thought, as though he was actually deciding what he would do with him. Suddenly, his lipless mouth curled up in a wicked smile.

"You should be grateful, Harry," said Voldemort, "I've been very lenient with you so far, trying not to destroy your sanity. I even arranged a comfortable sleeping-accommodation for you, do you remember? But above all that, I spared your life. It wasn't easy for me."

"You haven't killed me yet, because I serve as some sort of vessel," said Harry impatiently. What did Voldemort expect? A thank you?

"Which is still a load of rubbish to me. What is a horcrux anyway?" he continued. He knew he was pushing it too far, but it was time for some answers. He was getting sick of being kept in the dark. First by Dumbledore, by the Order and now by his arch enemy.

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort dangerously. He slowly walked over to Harry and raised his hand. Harry looked questioned at it and before he could register, Voldemort gave a backhanded slap. Harry's head swung sideways and he almost fell out of his chair. He gripped the rug tightly to prevent himself from stumbling to the ground.

 _How very muggle of you_ , Harry thought, while facing the floor. He hoped Voldemort couldn't pick up this thought, since there wasn't any eye contact. Taunting the Dark Lord didn't seem like a really good idea right now. Slowly, he looked up again.

Voldemort gave him a long, thoughtful glare. "You can't help yourself, can you, Harry? I've warned you time and again, to keep your insolent tongue. Or maybe, perhaps, you want to get hurt?"

Harry shook his head and looked away. He sighed, wondering when the Cruciatus Curse, or maybe even Voldemort's whip, would hit him again.

"You see the patience I'm showing you?" whispered Voldemort, who had stepped away, turning his back to Harry. "You should be writhing in pain, but the Dark Lord is merciful." He sat down again.

"However, you still owe me an answer to what your punishment should be for your rude behavior. Not to mention the punishments you're going to receive for ruining my horcrux. Almost forgetting the marks I still have to imprint on you, since you've been committing a lot of misdoings.

Have you thought about it yet? You've had plenty of time these past few days," he added casually.

Harry winced. He didn't dare telling Voldemort he'd been pretty preoccupied with the last torture session he'd received. He didn't even dare to look up at Voldemort's face. He could only imagine the twisted smile forming around his ugly, snakelike lips.

"I'm waiting, Harry," Voldemort said silently. "Don't make this worse for yourself."

What was he expected to say? _Please, put me through another torture?_ He'd rather set himself on fire.

"I will make this simple for you, Harry, something to look forward to," Voldemort continued, when Harry still didn't answer. "I will escort you to your room in a little while. You'll receive your overdue marks, to remind you of your place.

Afterwards, I shall put you through another part of your punishment for destroying my horcrux – take a single guess which punishment this will be – and we will repeat this every night until I'm satisfied. Understood?"

Harry had started to breath uneven again. Voldemort's sick game was working; Harry felt extremely scared and vulnerable. His insides tormented him with a twisted mixture of anger, illness, fear and humiliation. He finally looked up at Voldemort's face. His red eyes told him to comply, and Harry did, giving Voldemort a trembling nod.

"Good," laughed Voldemort humorlessly. "And now, tell me how I should discipline you for misbehaving earlier."

"I-I don't know," whispered Harry, scolding himself inwardly for sounding so weak, for obeying Voldemort yet again. "You already have a lot in store for me."

He waited in vain for Voldemort to speak again. Trying to keep his trembling under control, Harry continued: "how long do you normally put me under the torture curse?"

Voldemort tilted his head, as if he was studying Harry. "Mere seconds. Well, at least I did at first."

Harry's nausea became stronger. He was actually having a discussion about how Voldemort should torment him, as if they were talking about the weather. He'd enough; he wanted this to be over now.

"Maybe you could d-do that again?"

"I don't think it'll be enough, Harry," said Voldemort, eyeing him with his tilted head. "You are still challenging me, you see, though your behavior has improved now. But I want this punishment to completely wipe any defiance left in you."

"Then what do you suggest?" choked Harry. "Put me under as long as you'd done the last time?"

"There are several ways to hurt you the most, Harry. You could kill for me, for instance, or betray for friends. Let the world known that you've joined me," said Voldemort thoughtfully. "But all of this will only break your spirit, and I daresay, with nothing left to lose, your behavior towards me will not improve…

Though I'm itching to force you to go through all that." Voldemort gave a soft, cruel chuckle. "Perhaps, you are right. I'll just have to create a never ending world of pain for you."

Voldemort rose from his chair and gestured for Harry to do the same. He looked maniacally again, as if a sudden anger had returned.

"Listen to me, wasting my precious time on a pathetic being such as yourself. Why, I'm almost growing to be fond of our little moments together," he said and grabbed Harry's wrist. Another sear of pain flowed through Harry's scar and he unwillingly pressed his hand onto it with his remaining arm.

"Playtime is over now, Harry. Follow me." Voldemort began pacing towards the stairs, dragging Harry behind him. Harry wasn't really sure if Voldemort had decided how to discipline him any further. Maybe the numerous tortures ahead were sufficient enough.

He felt the extreme urge to pull his wrist out of Voldemort's hands, but he didn't dare, afraid to anger him even more. Each step on the staircase made Harry's legs feel weaker. They approached the appearing and disappearing door again, went through it and strode along the long corridor. When they reached Harry's bedroom, his inside were painfully knotted together. He wasn't ready to face Voldemort's wrath, wasn't ready to get tortured to a near insanity again.

Voldemort pulled him inside and threw him away. Harry felt hard onto the cold floor. Voldemort's calmness from before seemed to be vanished. Looking quite deranged, he stepped closer to Harry, who rolled up hastily and getting to his feet as far from Voldemort as he could.

Voldemort raised his wand and Harry felt his robes getting torn apart around his back immediately with the same strike of white-hot pain he'd felt before. He almost sank to his knees again.

"Turn around," Voldemort bellowed, waving his wand. Harry felt himself getting spinned around and gasped as another flash of pain seared across his back. The blow sent him to his knees; he placed his hand on the ground to steady himself.

"Aah!" he yelled, when another blow pained his back. The one after that followed quickly. The pain was getting too much; Harry could hardly sit upright any longer. Panting and with his eyes squeezed tight, Harry waited for another strike, but apparently Voldemort was finished.

"Now, what do we say?"

Harry didn't know how to think anymore. What was he supposed to say? My lord? Thank you? Both? He let out another gasp and gritted his teeth.

"T-thank you?"

"Very good, Harry," he heard above his head. Harry could almost feel Voldemort's insane smirk, nose trills dilated with excitement… He shivered at the thought.

Suddenly, he felt a great pain at the top of his head. He found himself getting pulled up by his hair; felt several hairs part company with his scalp. Staggering, he was forced to look at Voldemort, who was now bending his neck; his scar screaming for release. Voldemort threw Harry from him again, and he slammed against one of the poles of the four-poster bed.

"And now…" hissed Voldemort threateningly, raising his wand. "Beg me to punish you."

"What?" said Harry bewildered.

"I said, beg me to punish you!"

There was a moment of silence, in which Harry deviated his options. But since there was no escape possible, and no wise decision made in provoking Voldemort's anger, he gave up.

"Punish me. _Please._ "

He could barely shut his eyes, before the pain sank in.

* * *

 **Note:**

Voldemort has become quite physical. Maybe I've seen too much of film-Voldemort…

I think I'll alter my idea in the next chapters, in which Harry will get out of Voldemort's clutches, since I'm getting a bit nauseated of Harry's endless torments and humiliations…


	5. Chapter 5

Harry felt great relieve when he heard the sound of Voldemort's rustling robes exciting the room. He lay on the verge of falling into a deep darkness, but somehow he managed to keep himself together. Though it had been excruciating, it hadn't been so bad as the previous number of times. He felt exhausted nevertheless. Maybe Voldemort was finally coming close to being satisfied, or maybe, Voldemort had decided that Harry has had enough this time, since he'd whipped him as well for refusing to beg.

The ritual had been the same almost every day. He got the day to pull himself together. At dusk, a Death Eater came to pick him up for diner, in which Harry was forced to eat while being stared down by Voldemort. Afterwards, Voldemort would bring him back to his room and subject him to another part of Harry's indefinite punishment. And every night, Harry screamed until he passed out.

There had been a few nights in which a Death Eater brought him food. Harry suspected Voldemort to be busy then, since those evenings had always remained punishment free. A few times, just like tonight, Harry had refused to beg for his punishment. It had always been answered with another mark, striking in his back.

The soft bed was comforting him; taking him to a dreamless world where he didn't have to feel, didn't have to think, for a while. A soft bright light spread gradually through his eyelids. Harry opened his eyes; the room was lit up with the risen sun outside. He blinked and tried to sit upright. He moaned a little when the slight aches rushed in his body. Angrily, he punched his pillow. He hated how weak he felt, how undeniably vulnerable he was right now.

Deciding a bath would do him good, he got up and walked towards the bathroom. His own image stared back at him, from the grand, impressive mirror, hanging above the sink. Slowly, he walked closer to it. The mirror didn't speak to him, like most mirrors in the Wizarding world normally did, Harry released, but he was thankful. He didn't need anyone tell him how awful he looked; he could see that for himself. With much effort, he pulled of his torn robes and turned his back half to the glass. He half expected to see dried up blood - it had felt like he'd been bleeding - but his back was smooth. Though very faint traces of a head were visible – or a skull?

His fingers traced the vague lines. Another faint trace of a curly line became visible, just a little darker than the color of his skin. And then, with the feeling a stone dropped in his stomach, Harry released: the dark mark. Literally _his mark._ Voldemort had imprinted that ugly mark on his back, the mark Death Eaters bore on their arms. A wave of anger rushed through Harry, making it impossible for him to move. He felt the sudden urge to yell, to blast this whole bathroom to pieces.

He was filthy. Soiled. Voldemort had tainted him.

Frantically, he looked around for something, anything – like an abrasive sponge – that could help him get his mark of his back. He found something similar and carried it to the bathtub. He turned all the cranes open - the fresh smell of five different bathing soaps penetrated his nostrils - and watched how the bathtub filled itself with hot water. And the scrubbed, like he'd never done in his life. His back felt sore when he was finished, though it still didn't feel clean.

After an hour, he gave up and rose from the tub. He was almost finished drying up, when fresh new robes appeared on a stool, next to the bathtub. They were the same as he had been wearing before; the same black - similar to his school robes – soft robes and the fabric felt welcoming on his body.

 _Disgusting_ , Harry thought. _I'm walking around in Voldemort's clothes, or at least the ones he provides, sleeping in this bed, being in his house, doing his bidding._

Yet he was glad he felt this way. Voldemort had not tortured his spirit away completely. He wasn't going to crawl anymore, begging for punishments and pleading for release; that was over. He would rather let Voldemort agonize him to insanity then give him the satisfaction of behaving like an obedient slave.

A new force of strength rushed through Harry. A part of him still knew that when he actually had to face Voldemort, he wouldn't feel this secure anymore, but he put that aside. Right now, it was time for action. He had to get out of this place.

He entered the bedroom again and looked up to the window. The snake-formed bars told him escape wasn't possible, but Harry tried anyway. He walked over and grabbed one of the steely snakes. It didn't budge; Harry tried pulling it away, but gave up after a few seconds.

"Come on," he said angrily, pulling at the bar again. "Just break or something."

He looked across the room, maybe there was something here he could use. But at everything he looked, he saw books.

 _Hemoine's paradise,_ he thought and felt a sting of sadness. He missed her. Now more than ever. She'd know what to do. She'd probably know a way of wandless magic, a trick to open the window. Then again, his was a room Voldemort had picked out for him; there was no way in which Voldemort would allow this to be easy, to be even possible.

Harry looked back at the bars. The snakes reminded him of the little engraved snake on the tap in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom; the passageway to the Chamber of Secrets. Slowly, an idea popped up in his head. Could it work?

" _Get out of the way,_ " he hissed, in Parseltongue and to his great surprise, the snake came to life and turned a little to the right.

"Yes!" he shouted triumphantly, and gripped one of the steely snakes. _"More! All of you, get out of the way."_

Suddenly, Harry heard the door of his room appearing behind him. To his relieve, the snakes weren't all the way to the side yet. He slowly let go of the bars and turned to face whoever was standing in the doorway. It was the man Harry recognized as Ackerly.

"You will join the Dark Lord for diner," he said, looking from the bars to Harry with narrowed eyes.

"No," said Harry defiantly.

"No?" he heard a cold, high voice from behind the man, and Harry's insides froze instantly. Voldemort appeared, stepping into the room.

"You may leave, Ackerly," he told the man, who bowed and vanished out of sight. Voldemort kept drawing nearer to him, and Harry tried with all his might to keep his breathing steady. He forced himself to keep looking at Voldemort's bright red eyes, which flamed more fury, with each step he took.

"Get away from me," Harry yelled, taking a few paces backwards now himself. He saw Voldemort grinning with amusement, as he kept on walking.

"It seems that my lessons don't have a very lasting effect on you, do they Harry?" he said and the malicious smile on his face slowly made place for a silent look of rage. "Did you really think – were you foolish enough to believe that I would not find out about your idle escape attempt? The snakes and I are connected of course."

Harry felt stupid for a moment, but quickly replaced that feeling with a mixture of panic and anger. He shuffled backwards along the wall, with Voldemort following him.

"Perhaps I need to remind you what will happen to those who keep defying me," Voldemort began, raising his wand. But this time, Harry was ready. With reflexes, thanks to his Quidditch-talent, he flung himself sideways from the wall, on the ground and rolled up to watch Voldemort's next move. He heard the wall crack when the red, shining whip, which had emerged from Voldemort's wand, hit the spot he'd stand in seconds before.

Voldemort turned around, eyes filled with the deranged anger Harry had seen before, and brandished his wand in his move. Harry jumped out of the way again and nearly hit the bed, which made him stumble out of balance. He was just in time to dodge another blow of Voldemort's whip.

To Harry's amusement, Voldemort let out a cry of fury, but his urge to laugh disappeared quickly when he saw Voldemort advancing. The whip out of Voldemort's wand evaporated, but Voldemort raised his wand. Harry flung himself over the bed and rolled behind it. The wall above his head shattered when a curse it the grey bricks. Harry ducked his head when tiny pieces of broken bricks fell into it, and waited for another sound.

Feeling trapped, he crouched forward, hoping Voldemort would take the other side. He slowly raised his head, and ducked when a red light flew his way. The wall behind him exploded again. Suddenly, he felt his body levitate, as if he was hanging by strings, and floated through the air. The invisible strings snapped and he fell on the ground, right before Voldemort.

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort and grabbed Harry by his hair. His scar, which had seared as if a hot ironed poke had been pushed against it throughout the happening, was now burning fervently. Harry felt several hairs leave his scalp, as Voldemort forced him to stand.

"Let – go – of – me," he growled, and struggled to get out of Voldemort's firm grip. To his surprise, Voldemort let go. He fell backwards on the ground, but got up quickly and watched Voldemort rub his wrist. The stared at each other for a couple of minutes; Voldemort looking deliriously angry and Harry, panting heavily.

"It seems," Voldemort finally spoke, with a collected voice, which did not exactly match the deranged look on his face, "that I need to take a different approach. You will be very sorry for this, Harry, very sorry indeed."

"Will I?" Harry answered, ignoring the building pain in his head. "What are you going to do? Torture the living daylights out of me? I'm sorry to inform you that I will never obey your pathetic commands anymore. You might as well just kill me… Riddle."

"You dare-?"

"Yes, I dare," Harry said, letting his own anger rise up. He knew he'd pay for this, he knew another fifteen minutes of agonizing pain wasn't far away, but he didn't care anymore. Standing up to Voldemort gave him a tiny bit of satisfaction; a tiny bit of feeling in control.

Voldemort kept staring at him, seemingly debating inward whether he should just kill him, but he didn't act. Then, unexpectedly, a horrific smile formed on his face. Harry felt his aiding anger abandon him, felt the prickles of fear returning.

"Very well," Voldemort whispered. He beckoned with his long, white fingers for Harry to come closer. When Harry didn't move, his hand snapped forward and closed it around Harry's robe. He pushed him away; towards the appearing door. Harry's felt Voldemort's hand on his shoulder and tried to shrug it off.

It didn't work. Instead, Voldemort gripped his shoulder more tightly and Harry's scar seared with fresh pain. Voldemort led him through the corridor, and they descended the staircase, until Harry was shoved in the room with the fireplace.

Harry felt their presence sooner than he saw; he looked up in the room full of Death Eaters; their echoing snickering ringed through his ears. Voldemort's soft chuckle followed behind him. He shoved Harry further in the room and the Death Eaters burst with laughter now.

"Such an impudent child this is," Voldemort told the Death Eaters, who nodded in agreement. Silent suggestions of endless torture filled the air and another row of laughter followed suit. Harry started to feel angry again.

"It seems our young guest here has grown a little tired of our hospitality," Voldemort continued dangerously and the laughter of the Death Eaters died out.

"I caught you trying to escape, didn't I?" he now spoke directly to Harry, who turned to face the floor. "Tell me, Harry, what do you think your punishment should be?"

Harry didn't answer. Voldemort turned to the group of Death Eaters. "What do you think his punishment should be?" he asked. A new burst of suggestions broke out; the one more dreadful than the other. A few Death Eaters volunteered for the job.

"No," Voldemort whispered softly, raising his hand to carry them to silence. "No, the boy is mine. You will not touch him." He turned to face Harry again.

"You don't like it when you're being kept in the dark, eh Harry?" he said, while advancing, and Harry tried really hard not to step away. "I noticed when going through your worthless mind. You want some answers, do you not? Well, you're in for a treat."

Voldemort looked up when the sound of Apparition spread across the room with a loud bang. It made Harry jump slightly and without being able to stop himself, he turned around, trying to find out where the sound had come from.

"Ah Lucius," Voldemort said. "Is everything set up?"

"Yes, my lord," he answered, looking paler than Harry had seen him those times Malfoy had brought him food in his dungeon.

"Your son is ready?"

"Yes, my lord," Malfoy answered again. Another loud "BANG" cracked in the room.

"My lord, we have finished the arrangements. The Order is on their way, as we speak, but the passageway is clear."

"Very good," said Voldemort and a cruel smile formed on his lipless mouth. "Go now. All of you. Do not disappoint me. The consequences will be dire for those who disappoint me."

He turned to Lucius Malfoy. "I have been very merciful to you, Lucius. But if you fail me tonight, I will not be so forgiving anymore. Now leave!"

Harry watched each Death Eater Disapparate, until he and Voldemort were alone once again. He had the terrible feeling that something horrible was going to happen. His scar revealed Voldemort's excitement with a painful sear.

Voldemort beckoned Harry to come closer. Sparing himself another wrestle with Voldemort, Harry complied and stepped a few careful paces into his direction.

"What is happening?" Harry asked, but was answered with a painful strike on his cheek.

"You will find out soon enough," Voldemort answered and grabbed Harry by his arm. With his scar, screaming for release, he felt the sensation of being pushed through a rubber tube, the same sensation he had felt the first time when Voldemort had taken him. They were going somewhere. And when Harry's feet hit a grass ground, he realized where. With a dreadful, fear stricken panic, he looked up and saw the edge of Hogwart's terrain.


	6. Chapter 6

_\- 24 hours before -_

He would never get tired of this, would never get enough. He was addicted to Harry's screams of agony, making him feel delighted. He watched the boy curl up on the four-poster bed, eyes squeezed; trying to block out the pain, and grabbing the sheets tight as if they were a lifebuoy. _Ah yes, very satisfying indeed._

 _Almost enough not to kill the boy, if he hadn't been another horcrux,_ he thought and felt anger rise again. More than a month ago he had found out that the diary wasn't the only vessel which had been destroyed. The locket of Salazar Slytherin was gone, and replaced by another. He didn't know whether this R.A.B. had succeeded in destroying it, and if this person was still alive, hunting other horcruxes. The ring was gone, too.

The only remaining horcruxes, of which he was sure were still uncompromised, were Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, safely stored in the Lestrange's vault, Nagini and this boy, writhing in pain before him. And then there was Ravenclaw's diadem, of course, but he didn't know whether that one was still unharmed as well. He couldn't burst into Hogwarts to check for it himself… Well, not yet anyway.

So, with the diary, the locket and the ring gone, and the bit of soul which got destroyed when possessing Quirrel, there was too much damage already. It would be foolish to kill the boy now, too risky. And he still didn't know how to transfer his piece of soul to another object. He had never bothered to find out and now, he couldn't find it anywhere. After all, there weren't many with knowledge of horcruxes.

Feeling thoroughly enraged, he increased the force of the curse he had put on Harry. The screams became louder. The boy started to shake uncontrollably now, a signal that he couldn't take it much longer before losing his mind, or, as it had happened on most nights, before passing out.

Very well. It was time to leave anyway, the meeting would start soon. He lowered his wand and ended the Cruciatus Curse. The screams died out and he watched Harry relax only a little and gasp for air, since he had let go of it through screaming.

Then, he turned around and went through the appearing and disappearing door. He Apparated downstairs; he didn't feel like walking through the endless corridor. His eyes spotted a handful of early arrived Death Eaters, gathering around the fireplace. They bowed when they saw Voldemort appear and he heard the faint whispers of "my lord".

"Welcome, my friends," he spoke and beckoned them towards the entrance of the dining hall. The Death Eaters followed and took place around the long, handsome table. Voldemort sat down as well, at the head of the table. They waited in silence, and one by one, other Death Eaters appeared. Some bowed before taking place, others merely whispered "my lord".

Voldemort nodded in return and allotted them a seat. Apparently, every invited Death Eater was present, because Voldemort started to speak.

"Welcome, my faithful servants. Ah, Severus, thank you for joining too," he said, when another man entered the room.

"Have a seat, here," he said, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "I trust you've come to bring valuable news to me?"

"My lord," Snape began, being stared down by the other eyes around the table, "Dumbledore intends to travel tonight, he told me just a few moments ago. He didn't specify the length of his journey, but he hinted to be back when the school starts. So, we only have tonight."

"And the Order?"

"Is stationed at Hogwarts. A few of them remain at the Ministry. However, they are ready to join Dumbledore. They Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" said a squat man sitting a short distance from Snape; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table. Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the ceiling, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

"How far are we in the actual infiltration?" he asked.

"Dumbledore still gets edged out. His influence in the Ministry is as good as gone," answered Corban Yaxley promptly. Everyone turned to watch him.

"Yet, they appointed Scrimgeour as Minister," Voldemort interjected. "Which means they do not longer condone Fudge's denials."

"Our people has surrounded Scrimgeour at last, my Lord," said Yaxley hastily. "If ever were a time to strike, it will be tonight."

"You can guarantee me this, Yaxley? One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way," Voldemort said. His red eyes fastened upon Yaxley's ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze.

Yaxley swallowed visibly, but then squared his shoulders. "Yes, my lord. You can be certain."

"Good," Voldemort answered and turned to look up at the ceiling again. "Then we will act tonight. If everything works according to plan, which I'm certain it will, since the Ministry will be ours by tomorrow. We will proceed to take over Hogwarts as well.

However, Dumbledore's still posing a threat. This will have to be dealt with tomorrow as well. Severus?"

Snape returned Voldemort's intensive glare.

"You told me Dumbledore's weakened. Can you guarantee me his demise once we are taking over?"

"Even weakened, Dumbledore is still powerful enough to throw a spanner in the works," Snape answered softly. "Even when the Ministry has fallen, maybe especially then, he will be on full alert. It will be ill advised to try and take over."

The Death Eaters around the table gave soft hisses of despise, narrowing their eyes in disapproval. Voldemort watched them intently.

"Severus is right. Dumbledore is not the be underestimated," he said, "however, Draco and Bellatrix have prepared the necessary actions to ensure me of Dumbledore's death, haven't you?"

"Yes, my lord," shrieked Bellatrix and she leaned toward Voldemort, longing to be closer to him, with adoration expressed in heavily lidded eyes. Draco, however, sat rigid and impassive, not daring to look at Voldemort.

"The passageway is nearly done. It will be ready for tomorrow."

"Nearly done," Voldemort repeated, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "You think nearly done will be sufficient enough, Bella?"

Her face flooded with color; an ugly, blotchy red.

"I do not have to remind you how unwise it'll be to fail me again, do I?" Voldemort continued. The Death Eaters didn't dare to laugh, a few gave a silent snort.

"My lord, it will be ready by tomorrow. I give you my word," Bellatrix said.

"Very well, Bella," Voldemort finally said. "I trust you."

Bellatrix flushed again; her eyes welled with tears of delight. Voldemort rose from his chair and gestured the Death Eaters to do the same. They complied immediately, rushing with excitement.

"Now, it is time. Severus, you will return to Hogwarts. Make sure your presence is noticed there. The rest of you, report to me when it is done. Leave."

Voldemort turned towards the door. He heard the sounds of Disapparation behind him, as his Death Eaters set out to take over the Ministry. He didn't have to be a part of this party. Other preparations were needed, if he were to bring Dumbledore and the staff at Hogwarts down.

* * *

There was an eruption of jeering laughter through the stillness of the night. Voldemort heard them outside the house, heard Bellatrix's immense shrieks of laughter above the ruckus.

He smiled, they wouldn't have been so jubilant if they hadn't succeeded. He smoothly rose from his chair and descended the stairs. At the same time, a handful Death Eaters entered the house and greeted Voldemort with waving hands of victory.

"It has been done, my lord! The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead."

"Excellent," said Voldemort in return and let the Death Eaters celebrate for another minute. Then, he held up his large white hand and the Death Eaters laughter died out instantly.

"Enough," he said smoothly. "Enough. You did very well. I would like Yaxley to return and help the others to maintain our order there. Let's see, you, Ackerly, you are to follow me, you will report. The rest of you can celebrate. You are to return here tomorrow before noon. Inform the others as well."

Voldemort turned to leave, with Ackerly behind him. He pointed at the chair by the fire for Ackerly to sit down, and sat down himself as well.

"So?" he asked.

"Their defense was pitiful," Ackerly started. "The Aurors were no match for us, outnumbered by almost three to one. We've killed Mad Eye Moody, Dawlish, Robards, and a few other Aurors. We believe Shacklebolt got away, joining the others at Hogwarts. Thicknesse is still under the influence of the Imperius Curse, put by Yaxley."

"And Dumbledore?" inquired Voldemort softly.

"No sign of him, my lord. We believe he return to Hogwarts. He must know by now."

"No doubt. And the others?"

"We're tidying up as we speak, my lord. Every department is getting reorganized now, all according to plan," Ackerly finished.

"Well done," Voldemort whispered. "You will be rewarded, all of you. Keep me informed and return here tomorrow. The next step will be Hogwarts and Dumbledore."

"Yes, my lord," Ackerly stood up and bowed. He seemed to hesitate a little, a movement which was not missed by Voldemort. He tilted his head to his side and watched Ackerly intently.

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering, we were all wondering, forgive my curiosity, but what – what of the boy?"

"The boy?" Voldemort asked, forming his mouth in somewhat of a smile.

"Harry Potter, my lord," clarified Ackerly apprehensively. "Shouldn't he, aren't you going to kill him?"

"Shouldn't I kill him…" Voldemort repeated softly and gazed behind Ackerly, as though he was lost in thought. "You were all wondering, you say?"

Ackerly gulped. "We're not, we don't, forgive me…" he stammered, but Voldemort raised his hand to silence him.

"It is only natural that you're curious. After all, we tried to dispose of the boy many times before," Voldemort said, still looking like he was lost in thought. "However, I've discovered something of great importance and I need him alive, for the time being."

"Great importance, my lord?" Ackerly asked, testing how far he could go.

Voldemort looked up directly to him. "You don't need to know, Ackerly. You have to focus on reorganizing business within the Ministry. The boy remains in my care and is not to be touched. You are dismissed."

Ackerly gave a single nod in understanding and with a loud crack, he vanished. Voldemort's lipless mouth curled up in a smile again. He felt gleeful. Finally, everything went according to plan, the plan which had been set up months before. Now another important step had to be made. Getting rid of Dumbledore would prove to be hard.

After being long in thought, Voldemort stood up and ascended the stairs. He passed the long corridor and the room in which Harry was sleeping. He hesitated a moment, but then made the door appear and opened it. His eyes found Harry, still on the bed, still in the same position in which he had left him. His robes were torn, revealing the faint mark he'd whipped into his back.

It angered him that he couldn't kill the boy. It angered him even more that Harry wasn't docile yet. Even after weeks of torture, he still put up a fight sometimes. He knew the boy was scared, and mourning; mourning over the death of his beloved godfather. _Disgusting._

Nevertheless, the fighting spirit remained. He would have to take a different approach with him. _Maybe he can be of some use tomorrow_ , he thought, as he watched Harry turn in his sleep. He shall be the decoy to lure Dumbledore into his demise.

"Sleep tight, Harry," Voldemort whispered and closed the vanishing door as he walked away.

* * *

"We have learned that Shacklebolt and Thonks are at Hogwarts right now, with the other Order mob, as we speak," said Dolohov. "You know, the niece of Bellatrix and Narcissa."

"Yes, I'm well aware," Voldemort answered softly.

The Death Eaters were gathered around the table in the dining hall again. Not all of them were present; half of them remained at the Ministry. Bellatrix and Draco were absent as well, preparing for the fight that would take place later that day.

They had discussed the plan for nearly five full hours now.

"Their resistance will be weak," Dolohov continued. "Families are too scared to put up a fight, now that they know that we can find out who they are and where we can find them. We must concentrate on the Order and Dumbledore."

"Yes, but with Dumbledore alive, they will rely on the foolish courage that he will be able to save them. We are to take him out first. Make sure everyone sees. Only then, they will surrender."

"Yes," Voldemort said softly. He was getting tired of this, it kept being repeated. At the same time, he was happy that their mission was clear. Kill Dumbledore, make everyone watch. "You will signal me when it is done. I shall wait at the gates. And I will bring the boy with me."

The last comment was answered with apprehensive looks of surprise. Finally, Nott permitted himself to speak.

"The boy, my lord?" he asked.

"Yes," Voldemort answered. "He will play a valuable part in our little take-over, you will see."

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by an entering, bowing house-elf. "Diner is ready, master," he squeaked. Voldemort made no move, but the house-elf went along anyway, getting followed by a few other house-elfs, who brought plates, cutlery and a massive amount of food. When finished, they bowed again and left the room.

Voldemort stroked his wand and gave the signal for the Death Eaters around the table to eat. He didn't eat himself. A huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort's shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers.

 _The boy is awake, commanding the bars to stand aside,_ Nagini hissed. Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He had felt it too. He looked around the table and saw that Ackerly finished his diner.

"Ackerly," he said softly. "Will you fetch our young guest please?"

He bowed and left the room. Voldemort looked around the remaining Death Eaters. They were finished as well.

"It is nearly time. Wait for me by the fireplace, I will join you momentarily," he said and watched as the Death Eaters left the room. Then, he Apparated upstairs. He saw Ackerly standing in the doorway, and then heard a defiant "no" coming from the room.

"No?" he said and stepped into the room. He saw the boy standing near the window and watched with delight how his defiant stance slipped into a stiff pose. "You may leave, Ackerly."

Voldemort set a few more paces towards Harry. His feeling of delightfulness grew when he saw that the boy was backing away, when he yelled "get away from me!"

"It seems that my lessons don't have a very lasting effect on you, do they Harry?" he said and the malicious smile on his face slowly made place for a silent look of rage. "Did you really think – were you foolish enough to believe that I would not find out about your idle escape attempt? The snakes and I are connected of course."

He followed Harry across the room, who was still backing away along the wall.

"Perhaps I need to remind you what will happen to those who keep defying me," he said and raised his wand. To his surprise and anger, the boy had flung himself sideways, the same way he had done in the graveyard, over a year back.

He turned around, felt his anger take over. The boy jumped out of the way again and nearly hit the bed, which made him stumble out of balance. His anger made him cry out, and he advanced the boy again who now flung himself behind the bed. His curse missed him.

He walked around the bed and thought he saw the boy raise his head. He shot another curse at him, but missed again. He was getting enough.

 _Levicorpus,_ he thought and watched Harry getting levitated through the air. He lifted the curse and Harry fell before him.

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort and grabbed Harry by his hair and forced him to stand.

"Let – go – of – me," he heard the boy growl and suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his wrist. _What was this?_ In his surprise he had let go of the boy. He looked at him, wondering. Had Harry been able to use wandless magic to make him let go of him? Was the boy stronger than he had anticipated?

"It seems," he finally said, with a collected voice, "that I need to take a different approach. You will be very sorry for this, Harry, very sorry indeed."

"Will I?" the boy said, "what are you going to do? Torture the living daylights out of me? I'm sorry to inform you that I will never obey your pathetic commands anymore. You might as well just kill me… Riddle."

 _Riddle? What is this?_

"You dare-?"

"Yes, I dare."

Voldemort kept staring at him, debating inward whether he should just kill him for this. The boy dared. In what childish dream did he live? Were his numerous punishment not sufficient enough? How could he break this defiant piece of filth, and then it hit him. A horrific smile formed on his face. He was going to pay for this dearly.

"Very well," he whispered, and beckoned with his long, white fingers for Harry to come closer. When Harry didn't move, his hand snapped forward and closed it around Harry's robe. He pushed him away; towards the appearing door. He felt Harry's struggles under his grip, and grabbed him more tightly. He shoved Harry further in the room where the Death Eaters were gathered. He heard them roar with laughter.

"Such an impudent child this is," he said, fueling the jeers from the Death Eaters. "It seems our young guest here has grown a little tired of our hospitality. I caught you trying to escape, didn't I? Tell me, Harry, what do you think your punishment should be?"

The boy didn't answer, but then again, he didn't expect him to. He turned to the group of Death Eaters. "What do you think his punishment should be?" he asked. A new burst of suggestions broke out; the one more dreadful than the other. A few Death Eaters volunteered for the job.

"No," he whispered softly, raising his hand to carry them to silence. "No, the boy is mine. You will not touch him." He turned to face Harry again.

"You don't like it when you're being kept in the dark, eh Harry?" he said, while advancing, and watched Harry struggle to keep standing. This pleased him. "I noticed when going through your worthless mind. You want some answers, do you not? Well, you're in for a treat."

He looked up when the sound of Apparition spread across the room with a loud bang. And then he spotted Lucius. "Ah Lucius, is everything set up?"

"Yes, my lord," he answered.

"Your son is ready?"

"Yes, my lord," Malfoy answered again. Another loud "BANG" cracked in the room.

"My lord, we have finished the arrangements. The Order is on their way, as we speak, but the passageway is clear."

"Very good. Go now. All of you. Do not disappoint me. The consequences will be dire for those who disappoint me."

He turned to Lucius Malfoy. "I have been very merciful to you, Lucius. But if you fail me tonight, I will not be so forgiving anymore. Now leave!"

He watched the Death Eaters depart and turned to Harry again. He beckoned for him to come closer and felt pleased when the boy did.

"What is happening?" he heard the boy ask.

 _Silence yourself. You will see,_ he thought and cast a nonverbal spell, focusing on Harry's cheek. His anger died a little when he saw the red cut appear.

"You will find out soon enough," he said and grabbed Harry by his arm. Apparating with the boy was annoying. But luckily, Harry kept still.

He looked over the terrain of Hogwarts. _And now we wait,_ he thought, and let go of Harry's arm. The Death Eaters were to kill Dumbledore. If everything went according to the plan, Draco and Bella had managed to summon the old senile up to the Astronomy Tower. Severus was instructed to give the final blow.

Only when they succeed, he would enter the castle. He wasn't going to make his hands dirty by killing Dumbledore. In truth, he didn't want to lose face, in case Dumbledore were to be stronger than him. No, it was by far saver to wait here until the deed was done. Then, he would take Harry and bring Hogwarts down, show the world that the war was won. And make Hogwarts the place he had always imagined in his head.

The Dark Mark shot in the air, just like they'd planned; shining its bright, green skull over the Astronomy Tower. He looked sideways to Harry, who until now, stood frozen on the spot.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked again, turning to look up at him; the fear clearly visible in his eyes.

"Silence," hissed Voldemort. "I haven't forgotten your insolence from before. Now it is time to pay, Harry."

Harry stared at him, and Voldemort returned the stare with a malicious glare. The staring contest went on for a full minute, and then suddenly – as though he was giving a start signal – Harry ran for it. He turned around, ducked when a curse missed him and sprinted through the gates. He had to warn them; had to find out who they had killed; what had happened, but most of all, this was his chance of getting away.

Something grabbed him by his ankles, and he fell forward, planting his face in the warm grass. He felt blood coming from his nose and he rolled over just in time to see Voldemort advancing.

"You silly, little fool." The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. Voldemort waved his wand; Harry felt himself getting lift up from the ground. He was thrown against the gates and sagged on the ground again. He coughed the blood out of his mouth.

"But as it turns out, your little stunt comes most opportune. I reminded me of your futile resistance, for which I shall have to put on end to before we enter," said Voldemort dangerously and stepped for more closer to Harry then he'd have liked. "Are you ready?"

Unwillingly, Harry closed his eyes. His burning scar made him feel dizzy, disorientated. And he felt his energy leave his body. Exhausted, Harry started to gasp for air. What was happening to him?

His eyelids felt like hanging rocks, and he tried with all his might to open them. Through a hazy mist, he saw Voldemort, towering above him, wand raised.

"What- wha-?" His mouth failed to form the sentence. Instead, he moaned when his scar burned so terribly, that he no longer knew where he was. He noticed vaguely that Voldemort lifted him by the arm, and then everything went black.

He didn't hear Voldemort's soft chuckle and didn't hear the soft whisper. "It is time."

* * *

 **Note:**

I'm sorry I made the cliff hanger again with the terrain of Hogwarts. Oh, and sorry for replacing chapter 5 (due to a small error) which made it look like another chapter was posted. Please tell me what you think so far! Even ideas are appreciated (I'm not suggesting that I don't have ideas of my own, I'm just curious, is all).


	7. Chapter 7

Voldemort felt they were calling him. They were instructed not to do so, if they failed to kill Dumbledore. So, they must have succeeded, mustn't they? Their plan had been risky, but apparently not impossible. Yet, he couldn't really believe that they were able to accomplish this task.

He looked up at the Dark Mark, shining bright green in the sky. And then he heard; people shouting and whimpering, and an awful, long wail, piercing through the air. And above all that he heard Bellaxtrix' cackle of triumph. This told him everything to make him sure; Dumbledore was indeed dead.

He gave a soft chuckle and lifted Harry off the grounds. "It is time," he whispered. He felt extraordinary powerful; triumphant. With Dumbledore out of the way, he had free reign. Nothing could vanquish him now. He started walking, but soon realized he was dragging Harry behind him, it took a lot more effort, like carrying dead weight.

Annoyed, he turned around, ready to command Harry to walk for himself, but he saw the boy slumbering forwards, hitting the ground again.

"It seems my spell was a bit too powerful," he chuckled. " _Rennervate."_

Harry slowly opened his eyes, and groaned. His eyes trailed up to the person holding his arm. Where was he? And what was happening? He felt dizzy, light headed, and barely noticed the pain in his scar. It was like floating through a misty suspense. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a faint hiss.

"Stand."

It took a little longer than normal for him to understand and then slowly, he tried to rise from the ground, but succumbed under the weight of his own body; his legs refused to carry him. He heard another command, but didn't quite understand it. The person holding his arm, now let him go. And everything went dark again. He didn't realize that he was now actually floating through the air and that he and his unknown person were reaching the castle. He didn't hear shouts and gasps, as bystanders noticed them.

But he wasn't unconscious either; he heard the same faint hiss above him, more loudly now, speaking to the people gathering around them. "Dumbledore is dead!"

Harry heard someone scream, and slowly realized who he heard. The scream was the more terrible because he had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound.

His heart skipped a beat. _McGonagall! She was okay._

He heard another woman laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix gloried in McGonagall's despair. Their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd around them took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eaters, and at Voldemort until —

"Silence!" he heard Voldemort bellow, and the roar of noise stopped at once. "It is over. Henceforth, you are all to bow to a new reign. Do you understand now, deluded ones? Dumbledore's dead! The Ministry has fallen. You are to obey me, and only me."

Suddenly, Harry felt the numbering mist around him disappear; he still felt weak, exhausted, but the shouts and Voldemort's words became more understandable and the hazy vision more sharply. The words Voldemort had shouted pierced in him, like a blunt knife and the realization hit too hard. _Dumbledore was dead._ The man who had kept him the dark the last past year, but nevertheless, had always been there to protect them – _him –_ the man who he still trusted most, who advised him, with whom he could share his worst experiences, was now gone. The closest man like a parent, like Sirius had been, they were all gone now.

 _I'm dreaming,_ Harry thought desperately, _this isn't true._

And then, more shouts suddenly rose in the air, taking Harry out of his miserable thoughts.

"No! Harry!"

They were shouting again… For him? He realized he was hanging in the air, next to Voldemort and people must have realized now who this floating person was, too.

"Harry! HARRY!"

Ron's, Hermione's, and Ginny's voices were worse than McGonagall's; Harry wanted nothing more than to call back, let them now he was still alive, that he had missed them so much –

"Silence!" roared Voldemort once more, and Harry felt himself getting lowered on the ground. He felt hands grab the collar of his robes and he was dragged half up again.

"Yes, the Boy Who Lived," he heard Voldemort's cold voice ring through his ears, "has already kindly joined me on my cause." There was relish in his voice for the lie, and Harry felt angry. He tried to struggle himself out of Voldemort's grip, but still felt too weak to actually achieve this. Instead, he turned towards the group and yelled, with all his might, "that's a lie! I'm not -!"

There was a loud bang, and Harry felt himself getting smacked onto the ground. Little stars twinkled before his eyes and all the air got sucked out of his lungs. He heard people shout, heard Ron's yell of rage.

"That's enough!" Voldemort bellowed. Harry looked up to him. It was clear that Harry's denial against his lies, wasn't Voldemort's intention to happen. So that's why he'd weakened him. Harry couldn't help but smile a little, he almost started to laugh when he saw how much it enraged Voldemort even further, but didn't when Voldemort was advancing him.

"You won't tell these people that you have joined me?" he said dangerously. "Are you scared of what they will think of you?"

"Well, I haven't, have I? You can lock me up, punish me every day, but it didn't work and it will never work, because I will never join you!"

Harry was careful not to mention the numerous tortures, he didn't want to increase Hermoine's sobbing or come across of some sort of hero. He felt his scar burning to no end again. Voldemort started to laugh.

"Oh, but have you forgotten all the times I made you beg?" he said and turned to face the shocking expressions of the group outside. "Yes… Your little hero is nothing more than a scared little boy, and I will make you all see."

His eyes fell upon Ron and Hermoine, who had been revealing themselves to be his friends, since they'd tried to come closer.

"I will give you a choice, Harry. Either you will join me now, or watch your friends die a painful death. Choose carefully, Harry. Their deaths will be on your hands…"

"No. No, don't do it Harry!" he heard Ron yell, as he stood up. Trembling he looked at Hermoine and Ron and then back at Voldemort, who had raised his wand.

"Silence!" a Death Eater shouted, with much eager in his eyes. Voldemort smiled again and turned his face from Harry and started " _Cruc-"_

"No, okay, fine!" Harry yelled quickly, "fine. Don't hurt them."

Voldemort looked up to Harry again, still raising his wand. "Beg."

"Please, don't hurt them," Harry obeyed at once. He didn't care anymore, all he wanted was for everyone to be safe. He watched in shock as Voldemort shook his head.

"No, Harry. Beg me the way I taught you."

Harry hesitated. He really didn't want to call Voldemort his lord, and especially not in front of the whole school. But he couldn't really afford to fight right now, not with Ron and Hermoine's lives at stake.

"Okay, fine. Please don't hurt them, my- my…" he scraped all his breath and whispered, " _my lord."_

He felt defeated. He stared to the ground, not able to bare their faces. He heard soft _no's_ around him. Voldemort finally lowered his wand and stepped a little closer to him.

"Very good, Harry. And now… Will you take the Mark?"

"What?" It wasn't like he didn't expect this to come, but was still shocked at the question. Why would Voldemort want him in his close ranks? Was it really to show everyone that he joined him? A way to make him hurt even more? He restrained himself from shaking his head.

"I said, will you take the Mark? It is an honorable reward after all. Or do you prefer for me to end your friends lives?"

This time Harry did shake his head and said, with an almost inaudible whisper, "okay."

"Get on your knees, and hold out your arm," said Voldemort, pushing Harry towards the ground by his shoulder. Harry obeyed reluctantly, but before Voldemort could grab his arm, another shout rose through the air.

"NO!"

Harry ducked just in time when a red light flew their way. He rolled over on the ground and saw McGonagall running towards them, with the energy Harry had never seen from her, as though she'd never been hit by Umbridge's delegation a few months before. Suddenly, as though were given the signal they'd been waiting for, everyone started to whip out their wands.

Chaos reigned. Curses and jinxes flew everywhere, hitting students, teachers and Death Eaters alike. The battle forced them to move, over the terrain, towards the entrance hall. Harry looked up, but Voldemort wasn't standing next to him anymore. He saw him across the field, firing spells from his wand as he backed towards the entrance hall as well, still screaming instructions to his followers as he sent curses flying left and right.

He then saw Lupin, dueling with three Death Eaters at once, and Thonks, running to his aid. He looked back to Voldemort, who was now dueling with professor McGonagall, Shacklebolt, professor Sprout and professor Flitwick. Harry couldn't help but feeling a bit useless. An enormous brute Death Eater ran towards him, and he backed away, feeling terribly vulnerable without his wand. But then, the Death Eater crumpled, and vanished out of side. Harry turned around and saw Hermoine, running towards him.

Ron appeared behind her, and together they flung into Harry, crashing into the ground, and embracing him so hard he thought his ribs would break. He returned their hug, with a shout of relieve.

"Harry, oh Harry, we've been so worried!" Hermoine sobbed in his robes. Harry felt like crying himself. Hermoine let go of him and he saw Ron's face, grinning. He couldn't help himself, he grinned too. All the emotions he'd pushed inside himself over the summer, now broke free and he felt like laughing, crying, shouting, all at once.

Just when he tried to stand up, a curse flew their way and they were barely in time to duck.

"How very touching," Malfoy sneered, raising his wand again.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Hermoine cried, and Malfoy flew through the air.

"Come on, let's go," Ron shouted, hoisting Hermoine and Harry off the grounds.

"We should help," Harry started, but Ron cut him off.

"No, we have to hide. How are you going to fight? Without a wand?"

"Never mind that! We can't just leave them-!"

"No, Harry, we should hide," Hermoine agreed with Ron. "We just got you back."

"Okay, fine! Where?" Harry shouted, when another blast set through the air. Pieces of rock were falling down, and he, Ron and Hermoine ran away from the fighting crowd.

"Let's go the Hogsmeade! Get help," Ron answered. But they hadn't rain for just a few meters when another blast lifted them off their feet. They flew through the air; Harry heard Hermoine groan when she hit the ground first, followed by an awful thud as Ron crashed into a tree and Harry felt his head collide with the ground as well. A sickening, blinding pain spread through his head. He lay on the very edge of slipping into unconsciousness, but another shout brought him back to live.

"SNAPE!" someone bellowed. The ground rumbled as something very big, very large, ran past them. It was Hagrid.

"I KNOW WHAT'YER DID! YER FILTHY PIECE OF-"

"NO!" Harry screamed, when he saw more than fifty curses race towards him; a few bounced of his chest, but the remaining curses hit their target. Hagrid stumbled and then succumbed on the ground.

"No! Hagrid!" Harry stood up and tried to ran towards him, but was stopped by Hermoine, who was dragging his arm.

"No, Hermoine, let go! We have to help!"

"I know, I know," he heard her cry, "but we can't-"

Another curse hit them, and Hermoine disappeared out of sight.

"No! Hermoine!"

Harry turned around; there weren't many people outside anymore. He saw a man he'd never seen before, but clearly didn't belong at his side. The man raised his wand, but then – out of nowhere – a voice, cold and high, rang through the air and Harry jumped, for he thought the voice was coming right behind him.

"ENOUGH! Cease your futile attempts to fight."

Harry turned back to face the Death Eater, but he had lowered his wand and was listening to Voldemort's voice, too.

"It is over. There is no need to waste more precious Wizard's blood. Your warriors are outmatched; your great defenders are gone. Now is the time to hand yourself over.

"You have ten minutes to gather in the Great Hall. Every student, staff member and member of the Order will report themselves to me. Every man, woman or child who still resists, are to be executed. Ten minutes."

The voice died out. Harry looked up the bewildered faces of the people who were still standing outside. He barely noticed the Death Eater in front of him, who was now dragging him behind him as he stalked towards the castle.

"Let me go," Harry growled, but the Death Eater merely laughed.

"You heard him, Potter. Now come!"

"No, wait! Hermoine and Ron-"

But the Death Eater didn't listen. Harry struggled again and to his surprise, was able to wring himself free. He ran towards Ron, who was still lying against the tree and fell onto his knees before him.

"Wake up, Ron," he whispered pleadingly. _Please, don't be dead. Please, wake up._

"Harry?" he said and moaned a little when his head touched his head. Harry let go another cry of relieve and helped Ron to stand up.

"What is happening?"

"I don't know," Harry answered and dragged Ron out of the way, before the Death Eater could seize them again. "We need to find Hermoine, Voldemort wants us inside. Come."

The crept up the hill, and found a lifeless body on the path to the entrance.

"Hermoine!" Ron yelled, and flung himself on the ground next to her. "Hermoine, Hermoine!"

She didn't move. Harry let himself fall next to them and reached for her wrist. He found her pulse. With a sigh of relieve, he turned to Ron.

"She is not dead, Ron, I can feel her pulse."

Ron stroked her hair and put his arms around her. Then, he lifted her from the ground.

"Now that you've had your lovely reunion, it is time to go. The Dark Lord awaits," spat the Death Eater behind them.

"Shut up," Harry said, as he stood up. He looked up to the castle and started to walk, with Ron next to him, who was carrying Hermoine and the Death Eater, following them from behind.

They reached the Great Hall. Nearly everyone was already present; first years looking pale from fright, sitting on the table to the near end. The others were standing two-by-two in line, facing Voldemort, who was standing on the platform where the staff normally was seated. The teachers were being held captive, in some sort of gold, lightning cage. The Death Eaters circled around the Great Hall, keeping everyone in line.

Harry felt a hard push in his back; the Death Eater forced them inside. They quickly took their position in the line. Harry looked around, trying to spot the members of the Order, but he couldn't find them. And then, the doors of the Great Hall closed and the faint whispers died out.

Voldemort strode backward and forward on his stage, taking in the view in front of him. His lips formed into a cruel smile. He walked over to the end of the stage and started to speak.

"Right. As I said before, the reign of Dumbledore is over. You will now answer to me," said Voldemort. "You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to appreciate bravery. However, the time for heroism is past. Anyone who stands in my way, will find imminent consequences. I will slay your family, your closest friends and everyone who have helped.

"You will henceforth address me as your lord. And you will show the most sincerest respect to me, and to my Death Eaters.

"Furthermore, there will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone."

Voldemort walked over to the chair where the first years were supposed to be sorted and took the Sorting Hat. With one flick of his wand, the hat was set in fire. Nobody dared to respond; they all remained silent as they watched the Sorting Hat crumble to ashes.

Voldemort turned to face the crowd again. His eyes were searching the room, and rested on Harry.

"Harry Potter," he spoke softly, "come here."

Immediately, Harry got seized from all directions by the Death Eaters. He struggled as they were dragging him forward, towards Voldemort.

"You have permitted others to fight for you. You have permitted Great Wizards, much more wiser and more powerful than you, to die for you," he said, while the Death Eaters dragged Harry upon the stage. "There is nobody to safe you now."

The Death Eaters gave him a shove and he almost crashed into Voldemort, but he managed to halt himself just in time. He wanted to tell the others not to worry, that he was extremely sorry for what had happened, that he never wanted them to go through this, that he never wanted anyone to die, but words failed him. He remained silent as Voldemort continued.

"However, Lord Voldemort is merciful. I will allow this child to live," he said, speaking to the crowd. "You have lost so many tonight. But we will build up another world together, with my wisdom and guidance. And we will rise up, stronger and more consentient than before.

And now, it is time to rest. Tomorrow, the new rules shall be explained. You will come to find out that, in order to create a better world, things will have to change. And in time, you will understand the way I see, and agree that is was foolish to reject me."

Voldemort waved his wand. The table on which the first years sat, vanished, making the eleven year olds fall to the ground. A pile of sleeping mattresses appeared. Harry heard shuffling behind him and he turned around. A dozen house-elfs were bringing food to the Staff's table.

"You will each take a meal and a mattress. You are to eat and sleep here, while my Death Eaters will create other sleeping arrangements. There will be no more separate common rooms, no more Houses," said Voldemort. "You are allowed to speak with each other, but quietly, and until lights out. You will obey every command. Any misdoings will be severely punished."

Voldemort turned his back on the students and faced the teachers, who were still imprisoned in the gold, lighting cage. With one wave of his wand, the cage moved and floated through the door. They vanished in a room next to the Great Hall.

A faint noise broke out, when students dared to talk to each other. Some were passing out mattresses, others grabbed a few plates and handed them out. They formed a line to the stage, where the food was waiting for them.

"Rowle, Ackerly. You are in charge here," Harry heard Voldemort speak, addressing the two Death Eaters behind him. "The Carrows are to remain here as well. The rest will follow me to deal with the teachers and the Order, or at least, what is left of them."

The Death Eaters bowed and turned to the waiting students, allowing them to pass so they could fill up their plates. Voldemort turned to Harry.

"I am in no need of your company right now. So, I'm giving you a choice. You either behave and I will allow you to remain here. You can speak with your friends, tell them about your _summer_ – " he chuckled softly – "and mourn together over the loss of your Muggle loving old friend," he said and ignored Harry's disdainful stare for mentioning Dumbledore in such a contemptuous way.

"However, if you choose to offend my benignity, I will come to collect you in person and make you experience such pain that the previous punishments you received will be nothing compared to this one. I will kill one of your beloved friends, and make you watch. And I will keep going until there's no one left. Am I understood?"

Harry wanted to keep staring, but thought it was best to just give in. Reluctantly, he gave a small nod. Voldemort frowned. Harry held in a sigh.

"Yes… sir."

He wasn't going to call him "my lord" anymore. He wanted to keep his last bit of defiance, the last bit of his dignity. Voldemort would simply have to accept this form of politeness, it felt gruesome enough already to refer him as sir.

Voldemort still frowned, but then apparently, and to Harry's secret relieve, he accepted. He stalked around Harry, with the Death Eaters tailing him, towards the door and vanished out of sight. He noticed people staring at him and he quickly grabbed a plate, filled it with food and brought it over to Ron and Hermoine.

Hermoine was awake, resting against Ron. They both looked up when Harry sat down in front of them.

"How are you?" he asked Hermoine and passed the plate to Ron.

"Fine," Hermoine answered. "Never mind that. How are you?"

"Wonderful," Harry said sarcastically. He watched tears sprang in Hermoine's eyes and quickly softened his outburst. "I'm sorry, I tried for a little airiness, you know."

"Oh, Harry, you look awful. W-we were s-so w-worried. We d-didn't know w-whether y-you were still a-a-alive."

Harry tried not to tear up himself. He stuffed his emotions down, like he had been trying to do the last few months, and gave her weak smile.

"I missed you guys so much. I'm so glad you're okay."

"Well, are we?" said Ron, but he didn't seem angry with Harry. "I mean, Dumbledore's gone. And You-Know-Who has taken over."

"Yeah, well-"

"Hi Harry," interrupted Ginny, who came to sit with them. Harry turned to face her. She looked a mess; her hair was untidy and she had a bloody lip. "You look horrible."

"You should say," he answered laughingly. Ginny shrugged and returned the smile. It felt surprisingly good to see her. He was glad that she acted lightly, as though nothing had happened. It lifted the weight he felt in his stomach.

Suddenly, she dropped her smile and seemed to be fighting back tears. Harry's little moment of relieve vanished quickly.

"It is awful, though, isn't it?" she whispered. "I never expected this to happen."

Ron gave her a comforting pat on the back. "We know, we know…"

"I'm so happy that you're still alive, Harry," she said sobbingly. "We thought that you made have died after the battle at the Ministry."

"I'm relieved that you survived as well," said Harry in return, barely audible. "All of you."

"Dumbledore was searching for you. Everyone on the Order was. They seemed to think that You-Know-Who was keeping you somewhere. We thought they only said that to calm us, but they were right after all," she continued and gave a thoughtful look. "Why hasn't he, you know, killed you yet?"

Harry knew she didn't want to sound so blunt. Of course, this was something they had been wondering about.

"I don't know, well, not really anyway. Apparently, I'm some sort of vessel to Voldemort," he answered and automatically turned to Hermoine. "He thinks that there's something more to our connection. Something valuable, something he needs, but can't remove. Do you know-?"

But Hermoine's shocked stare told him that she didn't know either. Harry sighed.

"How was it, you know, being there?" Ron stammered. Harry didn't know how to answer. He didn't really feel like recalling the previous months. How he had been tortured nearly every day and humiliated by Voldemort. Carefully choosing his words, Harry began.

"I didn't see him really all that much. He gave me a room with a bed and he wanted me to have diners with him. He found out about our connection and well, he used Legilimens on me on one occasion. He found out that his diary was destroyed, he wasn't too happy about that."

Before he could help himself, he shuddered. He hoped that they wouldn't ask, that they already understood. "So, he punished me for it, and a few times when I didn't do as he told me to, and well, that's it really."

He didn't feel like telling them the extent of his punishments, nor did he feel like telling them about the whippings and the Mark in his back. Luckily, Ron took over of the conversation.

"Yeah, we heard that You-Know-Who was keeping himself busy. Infiltrating the Ministry, gaining followers, murdering a lot of people. You know Mad Eye Moody is dead?"

"What?" Harry gasped.

"Yeah. He got killed yesterday, when the Death Eaters attacked the Ministry. The new Minister was killed as well, you know, the one who replaced Fudge?"

"They replaced Fudge?" Harry asked, though it wasn't really unexpected. When he was taken by Voldemort, those people in the Atrium, they must have seen…

"Blimey, Harry, didn't you know? There's been going on a lot this summer."

"Yeah, well, I was a little preoccupied, wasn't I?" Harry said sarcastically. He heard Ron mumble a "sorry" and heard Ginny's snarl of disapproval. Harry paid no attention. He gazed on his reflection in the window and saw himself looking back, more pale than Malfoy had been, with dried blood from his nose, and dark circles around his eyes. He looked indeed horrible. As if he was wearing a mask.

"I'm wondering what he is doing now with the professors, with professor McGonagall and the others, and- and Lupin, Thonks, all the members of the Order," Harry said after a while. "Will they survive?"

"Well, you heard him," answered Hermoine softly, trying to calm him down. "He doesn't want to, using his words, waste more Wizard's blood. They will probably alright."

He knew she didn't really believe it either, but it was better than thinking of the worst. A few times, Death Eaters past them, giving them small smirks and evil glares. Harry didn't bother telling them off; he didn't dare either. If they were to run to Voldemort, he would be putting his friends lives in jeopardy. He didn't really believe that Voldemort could make him feel worse pain, hadn't he already put him through the worst? Still, he had experienced already enough to last a lifetime. It was probably best to just avoid it.

"I just hope Hagrid will be okay," he said. The other didn't answer, but he knew they were thinking it, too.

"Harry," Hermoine said weakly, after a pause. "I know this isn't the best of times, but… well… since we didn't get to do it earlier…"

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well, happy birthday. I mean, not happy, but still…"

Harry looked at her. He had totally forgotten that his birthday had passed. He didn't really know how to feel about something so mundane like birthdays. Too much had happened.

"Yeah," said Ron sheepishly, with a faint trace of a smile. "Happy birthday, mate."

"It must have been the best of birthdays," Ginny said annoyed, clearly sharing Harry's disbelieve. "I reckon you got loads of presents and shared cake with You-Know-Who."

An image flickered before Harry's eyes in which he and Voldemort were enjoying cake, having a cuppa together in Voldemort's dining room. Before he could help himself, he laughed. Ron and Hermoine gladly joined in, and after a little while Ginny giggled as well.

"Still, we shouldn't forget," Hermoine said, when they stopped laughing, just in time before a Death Eater came around to check on them. "We should cherish little moments of happiness."

"Yeah… Right."

Ginny went to get them mattresses and Harry, feeling like he needed to do something, helped her. He ignored the looks his classmates gave him and didn't pay attention when some stood up to look at him better. He set up the beds for Ron and Hermoine and then made his own. Just when he sat down, he heard a yell across the Hall.

"Don't you dare talk back to me!" shrieked a stocky little woman, Harry didn't recognize. She was standing before Neville, with her wand raised. She gave a wheezy giggle and pointed her wand at Neville.

" _Crucio!"_

Neville screamed, much like he'd done when he was being tortured by Bellatrix. A few students stood up, and Harry sprang to his feet. Anger flowed through him, like fire. He felt Ron getting up too.

"Stop!" he bellowed and ran towards Neville and the stocky woman, who was now lowering her wand. Neville's screams died out.

"You dare to order me around, Potter?" she cried and turned to face him.

"What is going on?" pierced an icy cold voice from behind them. Harry's insides froze. Voldemort walked into view, looking from the woman to Harry. More Death Eaters walked into the Hall, coming down to witness the commotion like vultures.

"My lord," the woman said, bowing quickly, "this boy here was being disobedient. Naturally, he had to be punished for it, until this hero" – she gestured at Harry – "came to his aid."

"I see," said Voldemort softly. He stroked his wand with his long fingers and tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth. He pierced his red, malicious eyes into his. Harry tried not to lose control; not to betray his fear.

"It is time for everyone to go to sleep. Lights will go out in five minutes," he said and turned towards the door. The Death Eaters who had come to look, now returned to the room next to the Great Hall. Voldemort halted by the doorpost and turned a little to the side.

"Oh and Harry, you will follow me."


	8. Chapter 8

Harry was too terrified not to obey. Without looking back at Ron, Hermoine and Ginny, without looking at anyone really, he forced his trembling legs to move forward. The trip across the Hall took much longer than it normally would, or at least, that's was it felt like to Harry.  
Still, another, rather distant, but present nonetheless, feeling calmed his distress down a little; as long as Voldemort was taking him somewhere, Ron and Hermoine would probably be safe. As long as he kept walking, nothing bad would happen to them.

Voldemort waited for him to pass and closed the door behind them. Harry heard the dimmed orders from the Death Eaters through the door, but didn't really listen. He was standing really close – _too close –_ to Voldemort, much closer than he'd have liked. His scar started to increase its burning; white-hot pain flashed across his forehead, and it him took a lot not to press his hand against the burning wound. Instead, he briefly squeezed his eyes tight and hoped for the pain to subside. His eyes shot open, however, when he felt Voldemort's hand rest on his shoulder. He pushed him forward and Harry walked, wondering where Voldemort would take him.

"Do you remember what I promised you?" whispered Voldemort from behind, with a low, dark hiss. Harry would have dearly liked to answer with an insult, but he chose to remain silent. He wished Voldemort would finally grow tired of this game. Maybe if Harry pretended not to care, he would stop.

They entered a room Harry had never seen before. It looked somewhat of a conference room, with a large, handsome table in the middle, and beautiful chandeliers, hanging from the ceiling. The room was decorated with paintings. Old men and women, playing cards, while having a drink. Yet, after a few seconds, it became obvious that they merely pretended not to care for what was going on.

Harry looked around and stopped dead in his tracks, causing Voldemort to walk into him. Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Fred, George, Mr. Weasley and a few others Harry had seen briefly before, back in Grimmauld Place, were laying against the wall, piled up together, unconscious – or were they dead? Harry's heart pounded hard in his chest. He heard Voldemort's soft chuckle replace the hiss he'd let out before. Voldemort stepped away from Harry and pushed him further into the room.

"No," Harry whispered and sank to his knees before the pile of lifeless people. "No, please… Don't be dead. Wake up… _Please_ …"

"Don't be pathetic, Harry," said Voldemort, but there was an odd thrilling in his voice; he was clearly enjoying himself. He took a seat opposite of Harry, and tilted his head; his snake like eyes dilated with excitement. "They're merely Stunned."

Harry stroked Lupin's arm and turned around to face Voldemort. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Well, that is up to you," answered Voldemort very softly, while caressing his wand. "I remember myself promising you to kill your friends, one by one, if you were to misbehave. As it so happened-"

"I didn't mean to," Harry said at once.

"Silence!" Voldemort cried, raising his wand warningly. "I'm very close to having enough, Harry. If you dare to interrupt me one more time…"

Voldemort didn't finish his threat, but Harry got the illocutionary tenor. He pressed his lips together and gave Voldemort a hateful glare.

"Even if you didn't intent to, you still disobeyed. But I will show mercy. You can decide which one of them is about to die…"

For a few seconds, Harry just stared. Then, without being able to stop himself, he shook his head.

"Pick one, Harry," said Voldemort. His malicious glare intensified. "Pick one, or I will."

"No," he muttered, "no, please."

"Ah, I see I can make you beg again… Why, out of your own free will at that! Very good, Harry, very good… Though, I'm afraid, not good enough."

"Don't! Please, I will do anything!" pleaded Harry desperately. He hated himself. Hated how weak he was, how he kept begging to Voldemort. Where was that boy from over a year ago? The boy who refused to beg, refused to play along? Who had fought while knowing there was no defense – no rescue possible? He'd been afraid back then too. And Voldemort had hurt him as well. So, there really was no excuse.

But this wasn't about him now. He would beg, play along, obey –anything, to make sure they were safe. Nobody was going to die anymore.

"Anything, you say…" Voldemort whispered, lowering his wand, still glaring at the boy before him.

"Yes," Harry answered, though still a little begrudgingly.

"I already have the power to make you do anything I want, Harry. Have you forgotten?"

Harry didn't answer. He glared back at Voldemort, and slowly rose from the ground, to stand between the Order and Voldemort, like a shield. Neither of them said anything. The silence was crushing down on Harry, who was still debating inwardly whether to give in or keep fighting.

"No, you don't," Harry finally said, thinking fast. Voldemort simply frowned.

"If you kill any of them, even hurt any of them, I will never stop to fight, never stop to thwart your miserable plans. But if you leave them alone, I'll do as you say."

"Hahaha!" laughed Voldemort maniacally. "Ha ha, look at you, Harry! Trying to blackmail me. Why, you are more like me than I thought."

Harry shivered. He didn't want to resemble Voldemort in any way. It was like his second year all over again.

"Or maybe, there's a little more of me inside of you," Voldemort added thoughtfully. "I accept, Harry. You've got yourself a deal," Voldemort continued. He rose from his chair and walked over to Harry. "However, I don't need to remind you what will happen if you suddenly decide to do something you did not intent to do, now do I?"

"No," Harry answered, feeling both relieved and defeated. Voldemort scowled. "I mean, no sir."

"Did I tell you to call me "sir"? Do I look like a teacher to you?" asked Voldemort softly.

"No, I'm not calling you a professor, right? And well, I don't see you as my lord either, but you keep insisting for me to be polite, so…" Harry shrugged. For a moment, Harry thought Voldemort was going to attack, but the latter didn't move. Suddenly, he smiled.

"You are testing me, Harry and I warn you to be more cautious. After all, you're still going to receive punishment..."

He raised his wand and Harry steeled himself, but before Voldemort could strike, the door opened and Death Eaters appeared.

"My lord, we've finished the new dormitories. It is all set for tomorrow."

But instead of receiving the rewarding words the Death Eater had expected, Voldemort seemed annoyed.

"Did you honestly think I want to be disturbed with this? Leave! Now!" Voldemort hissed. The Death Eaters didn't need telling twice; as quick as they'd appeared, they left the room, leaving Harry once more to Voldemort's mercy.

"Don't you want to celebrate your victory with them, then?" Harry tried, but wished he hadn't. Voldemort looked livid.

"Silence," he warned, "playtime is over. You've humored me, and so I've been very lenient with you. You are, however, mistaken if you think it is safe to test your boundaries."

Harry didn't trust himself to speak; it was best to stay silent. He held in his breath and eyed Voldemort's wand, as its owner raised it up for the second time.

And there it was again; the blinding, sickening pain, rushing through his whole body. Waves of white-hot fire ran through his tissues, making him scream at the top of his lungs. It was different than the pain's he'd experienced before, but agonizing nonetheless.

Then it finally stopped. He lay on the floor, shivering; his face closed in a grimace. Slowly, his breathing came to back him. He realized the pain had been brief; nothing like the eternity's of torture he'd endured before.

"And now, you will kneel."

Harry looked up. He knew what was coming now and it terrorized him. Not for the inevitable pain, but for something worse than that; even worse than enduring the Cruciatus Curse. He didn't want his back to wear the Mark, didn't want at all for it to become more visible.

But what choice did he have? Voldemort made sure Harry's life was becoming a living hell, now that he couldn't kill him. And with the threat of his friends lives, he really couldn't afford to stand up to Voldemort anymore.

Trembling, Harry slowly sat up right and frantically, thought of ways to stall. Apparently, Voldemort was aware of the many thoughts in his head, for he was chuckling, while elevating his wand. Harry felt his robes around his back get torn apart, with the unmistakable searing sensation, piercing in his back. At the same time, a red vapor emerged at the tip of the wand, spiraling down, until its features became more solid.

"You will receive ten strokes. Now, kneel!" ordered Voldemort, while brandishing his wand.

"Ten?" croaked Harry, unable to keep his eyes off the shiny whip. It seemed to hiss at him, like a hungry, red snake, and it unnerved Harry to the core. Voldemort's malicious grin darkened.

"Yes, ten. And then you've come off easy. Surely, you will agree that you deserve it."

But Harry didn't agree. His chances of getting rid of the already exciting mark on his back, was now becoming very slim. But his stalling time had reached its end.

"Kneel!" cried Voldemort, with narrowed eyes. "Do not make me double your punishment."

"Alright, alright…" Harry hastily pushed himself onto his knees and pressed his hands on the ground, to steady himself. His eyes followed Voldemort, who started to walk around him, until he could no longer see him. He still felt his presence behind him, and closed his eyes. There was a loud sweeping noise –

He let out a gasp of pain when the first stroke hit him. It was familiar and yet ill-at-ease at the same time. The pain burned into his flesh, spread throughout his entire body, as if he was slowly set on fire. He groaned when the second strike blew onto his back.

He lost counting with the sixth. His clenched fists prevented him from falling over. With grinded teeth he waited until the unbearable white-hot fire would finally be over. Though, in his agony, he couldn't stop thinking about the Mark. Each blow would make it more visible, would carve that ugly symbol more deeply into his back.

 _Please, let it be over soon… He's way past ten now, please._

It stopped. Harry scrambled to his feet, and swayed a little when his head throbbed extra painfully. His back felt raw.

"Out of everyone I've ever tortured, I enjoy your pain the most, Harry," said Voldemort softly, and waved his wand. Harry's robes knitted themselves together again.

"Great," murmured Harry quietly.

"Do not talk back to me. Or I shall have to revoke our little deal. Am I understood?"

Harry shot him a look of pure hatred, before snarling "yes". He turned his gaze away from Voldemort and walked over to the lifeless body's from the members of the Order. They were still unconscious.

"Will you let them go, now?" he asked, and crouched beside them.

"Of course not, Harry. However, they are allowed to be re-educated."

Harry turned to meet Voldemort's eyes again. "What do you mean?"

"They are to be send away, to a secure location, were they will get reconditioned. That is, of course, if you can keep your little promise."

Harry suppressed a shiver. "And the professors?"

"The teachers of Hogwarts will await the same fate. With the exception of some reliable professors, of course," answered Voldemort calmly. He strode over to Harry and beckoned him to step away. Harry did; the burning in his scar told him Voldemort was not at all calm.

"Were are you going to send them?" he asked.

"I think Azkaban will do for now," said Voldemort and turned his back to the Order, to face Harry again. "Now, enough questions. We shall have to discuss what we're going to do with you."

Harry swallowed. He was torn between even caring anymore, since he already had lost too much, or keep fighting. Whatever Voldemort had in store for him, would only be another miserable matter, piled upon the others.

"What do you have in mind, then?" Harry decided to reply. "Send me to Azkaban as well?"

"Surely, you do not expect me to allow you to stay here at Hogwarts, now do you?" replied Voldemort, with a soft smile around his lipless mouth.

"Why not? Why bring me here in the first place, then? You have my wand. I can't exactly pull off a riot here, can I?"

"Do not take me for a fool, Harry Potter," said Voldemort dangerously. "You can acquire another wand, learn new tricks, make plans with your little friends, and I do not want to waste my time to keep an eye on you."

"Well, then don't. I won't mind if you'd finally leave me alone."

Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. He tilted his head, as if he was studying Harry, and then slowly raised his wand. Harry felt his robes shift around his back.

"You won't learn, will you? Another ten strokes it is then."

Harry's insides plummeted sickeningly. He backed away slowly, and ignored the sharp pain when his robes got torn apart again. The red vapor emerged from Voldemort's wand, and Harry stepped back faster now, until he felt himself collide with the wall behind him. Voldemort strode dangerously closer to Harry, until he was mere an inch away.

Harry looked up to the red, merciless eyes and pressed himself against the wall, ignoring the already burning sensation in his back.

"Stop."

"I give you three seconds to kneel," whispered Voldemort.

"No, stop. _Please,_ " Harry croaked, both panicking and hating himself, yet again.

"One."

"No."

" _Two._ "

"No. Please!"

Voldemort waited for another second, and then grabbed Harry's shoulder, hauling him away from the wall. Harry fell on the ground hard, and hastily turned around to hide his back. He pressed himself on his arms and pulled himself up.

In a jumble of black robes, Voldemort stood before him again, grabbing his hair and forced him to the ground. Harry struggled, turning sideways, as far as he could, so that Voldemort couldn't reach his back.

"Would you rather have me kill your friends? The Mudblood, for example? Or your precious, blood traitor friend?"

Harry stopped struggling. This was getting him nowhere. He faced the floor and waited for the inevitable first strike, but before Voldemort could deliver, the door opened again. Both Harry and Voldemort looked up, when they heard a deep, smooth voice filling the room.

"My lord, the arrangements are made-"

The figure in the doorway had bowed a little, but stopped speaking the moment he turned upright. He frowned slightly at the scene before him.

"My apologies, my lord," he said softly, and looked from Voldemort, who was still holding Harry by his hair, to Harry, who was kneeling on the ground. "I see I'm interrupting."

"Ah, Severus," said Voldemort delighted and let Harry go. "Not at all. Enter."

Harry wondered what Snape could have done to spare himself a telling-off by Voldemort for his interruption. Maybe Voldemort didn't care whether Snape were to witness Harry's punishment. Harry felt sick. The thought alone of Snape attending Voldemort's cruelty towards Harry made his inside cringe.

Harry watched Snape stepping inside. His eyes betrayed a malicious glee when he looked at Harry. Harry stared back, hating the man with the greasy hair before him.

"We are ready to escort the remainder of the Order to Azkaban, my lord," Snape said, while turning his gaze away from Harry to look at Voldemort. "Whenever you are ready."

"Very well," Voldemort answered, while lowering his wand. The red, snakelike whip evaporated into nothingness. "There's still a small matter I have to attend to before we depart."

Snape gave a dignified nod and shot a look at Harry from the corner of his eyes.

"It does not include the boy," added Voldemort softly, who hadn't missed Snape's eye-movement.

"Is he to be transported as well?" Snape asked, as if Harry was not in the room.

"Yes. I believe it would be best if the boy got locked up, too, albeit separate from the rest," answered Voldemort. Both he and Snape looked down at Harry, who was standing up, now the threat of getting whipped again had passed. Maybe Snape's arrival wasn't so bad after all, it had saved him another ten strikes.

Testing his luck, he turned to Voldemort and tried to keep his voice steady. "I'm not going."

Voldemort gave him a look of delighted surprise. "And what makes you think you have a choice in the matter, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer. Voldemort turned to Snape.

"How were you able to endure this insolence for five years?"

"Trust me, my lord. I've been trying to quell Potter's cheek since the moment he first stepped into Hogwarts. Sadly, his poor manners have always been justified by others, as he was Dumbledore's golden boy. But had his fate been rested with me… If I had been given a proper chance to _amerce_ his behavior…" Snape's voice trailed off.

"You shall have this chance now, Severus. I shall leave the boy in your hands until I return. I've wasted enough time on him as it is."

Voldemort gave Harry a last malevolent stare, then turned towards the door and vanished. Harry watched him leave and turned to meet Snape's intent glare. Suddenly, he rushed towards him and Harry hastily backed away. His hand grabbed his robes and he pulled Harry closer to him, while shooting another quick look at the door.

"Listen, Potter. It is now, more than ever, of great importance that you learn to shut your mind and study Occlumency! Otherwise I cannot help you."

"Help me with what?" Harry asked bemused, in doubt whether to trust Snape.

"I cannot tell you. Not until you've learned to close your mind, especially with the Dark Lord. Control your emotions, conceal your deepest thoughts. Otherwise, you will imperil the last chance of hope we've got."

"But I don't know how to do that!" said Harry angrily. "You've never explained properly how to-"

"Enough Potter, I have no time for your childish foolishness. Empty your mind, control your emotions. Practice this every day, every lone moment, and practice hard. It is vital!"

"Okay, fine. I will try."

"No, it is not enough. You must succeed. Do you understand me?"

Harry stared at the man's face. He'd never really known whether he could trust him. Then again, Dumbledore had trusted him. And clearly, he was having some best interest at heart, for encouraging him to master Occlumency.

"Yes."

"Good. Now I have endangered myself enough. Forget our conversation and practice hard and quick. And Potter, keep your head down for a while. I know you're proud to foul the air with your insolent tongue, but if you want to survive, if you want to fight, it is important to not draw the Dark Lord's attention. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Harry answered. He couldn't help himself, despite Snape's warning, he still couldn't stand the man and his loathing behavior.

Snape ignored his little defiance. Instead, he shot another glance at the door and let go of Harry when footsteps echoed through the hallway.

"Remember, practice hard," Snape whispered, and suddenly, drew his wand and pointed it at Harry. He felt something streak across his face like a blunt knife and the blast forced him to the ground. He landed flat on his back, with a crash that knocked all the breath out his body.

Voldemort reentered the chamber, and gave an appreciatively look at Snape. With him, a couple of Death Eaters emerged through the doorway. The room was soon ringing with laughter. Harry slowly got to his feet though his legs were trembling so badly they barely supported him.

"That will do, Severus," said Voldemort, and gestured for the Death Eaters to attend to the members of the Order. They did, lifting each in the air and levitated them out of the room. With a painful whirl in his stomach, Harry watched as the Order got dragged out. He barely noticed Voldemort advancing.

"You will come quietly, or, if you keep resisting, in the most pain you will ever experience. It is up to you," he said, his eyes glaring into Harry's.

"My lord," said Snape softly, and Harry noticed, a little apprehensively, "if you grant me to speak freely."

"What is it?" Voldemort asked, lightly annoyed, and turned to face Snape.

"Will it not be best to let the boy stay here?"

An awkward silence fell upon them. Voldemort kept staring at Snape, considering him, with a slight disappointment in his eyes.

"And where does this sudden affection come from?" Voldemort hissed, after a few minutes of silence.

"Please, I do not care for the boy, my lord. I thought it would be best to let him stay here, so that he can be watched at all times."

"I will be more able to keep an eye on him if he were to be safely locked up, without friends and admirers."

"Of course, my lord," said Snape, giving the same dignified nod he'd given before. "You know best, after all. This thought merely crossed my mind, since you've confided me into your busy plans, and well, it would be a waste of time if you were to keep an eye on the boy at all times as well.

"The boy is cunning enough to try and find the members of the Order, while in imprisonment, maybe conspire in secret, in your absence. If he were to remain here, I can keep an eye on him for you, make sure that he stays in line."

With narrowed eyes, Voldemort kept glaring at Snape. His eyes bore into his, and Snape didn't blink or look away. They watched each other what for seemed ages, and then finally –

"Very well, Severus. You've made your point. The boy can stay here, for the time being, while I shall attend to more important cases," Voldemort said softly, and turned his gaze to Harry.

"However, I want you to report his every move and every conversation. I want you to be sure he'll stay unharmed. You are free to punish him, of course, if he does step out of line, but he must not be harmed too severely."

"Naturally, my lord," Snape said, looking from Voldemort to Harry.

"And Harry, I shall know if you conspire with your friends. I shall know when you misbehave. And I shall come for you myself when you do, and your little bargain will be off," added Voldemort, now directly to Harry, in a soft, dangerous voice. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Harry quietly. He tried to keep his mind as blank as he could manage. If he didn't mess it up now, just kept his tongue and obeyed, he wouldn't have to pine away in some lone cell.

"You will meet with me when I deem it necessary."

Harry nodded. What choice did he have anyway?

"And you will thank me for my generosity, won't you?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, but decided to give in. "Thank you."

"Severus, show him his new quarters. He is not allowed to stay with the others."

"Yes, my lord," said Snape, and nodded for the third time. Voldemort turned around and strode towards the door. Without another words, he vanished, leaving Harry and Snape alone in the handsome, dim-lit chamber.

* * *

 **Note:**

I warned that Harry and Voldemort will get out of character (as we know them from the books). I kind of like to play with the pair, and test multiple directions. I'm sorry if it gets a little bothersome. As I am already past my original idea (Voldemort taking Harry instead of trying to kill him at the Ministry), I'm kind of making them up along as I go...


	9. Chapter 9

A slight wave of relief swept through Harry, mixing with his already present feelings of anguish. He didn't have to go to Azkaban; he wasn't going to get locked up... He could stay at Hogwarts…

However, the same could not be said about the Order... And the professors... What were they going to expect? What would happen in a re-education prison, set by Voldemort and his Death Eaters?

Harry pressed his arms against his chest in an effort to keep his robes around his body, as they were still torn apart. He paces across the room, too restless to sit. At the same time he felt more exhausted than ever. The burning in his scar had lessened; that was at least something.

"Come, Potter. Follow me."

Harry jumped. He had forgotten Snape was still standing in the room with him. He wasn't sure how to respond to him. Should he be suspicious that Snape was up to something? Could he even trust Snape; it has never been really clear on whose side Snape was on. Nevertheless, it was because of Snape, that he didn't have to face another imprisonment. Even if Snape had his own reasons for wanting for Harry to stay, he could help but feel - though a little reluctantly - grateful.

But to thank Snape… That was going a bit too far. Snape was probably acting for his own sake. Why else did he want for Harry to study Occlumency? Probably so that Voldemort couldn't notice some sort of plan, something that Snape wanted to tell him… Does this mean Snape is at his side after all? Or was this plan designed by Dumbledore, before he died? And did Snape not wanted to risk his neck, in case Voldemort would find out?

Harry didn't move. Too many thoughts raced through his head, too much was going on. Being so close with Voldemort, Snape must know what the others were up against.

"Is the Order going to be all right?" he asked.

"The Order doesn't exist anymore, as I'm sure you've found out by now," Snape answered coolly. Harry glared at him.

"They shall face a difficult time, but they will live," said Snape finally, when Harry had crossed his arms. It didn't ease Harry's mind at all. He wanted to ask more, but Snape's intense glare told him to leave the subject.

"Why do you want me to stay?" he asked instead.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "That should be obvious, Potter. How are you going to improve yourself in Azkaban?"

"But -"

"I can't, right now, Potter," Snape interrupted, before he could finish his question. "Come, I am to show you your new quarters."

Giving up, he followed Snape to the stairs, ascending to another long corridor. It looked a little similar to the route he'd taken in his second year, when he and Ron wanted to interrogate Malfoy about the Heir of Slytherin. It felt like they were in the dungeons, anyway.

Snape led him to another room he'd never seen before. The space was lit by a few black candles, showing vaguely the grim interior of the room. It looked like the fireplace of Voldemort's ghastly mansion. Harry suppressed a shiver.

"It is the Dark Lord's wish to use this room for when he's visiting Hogwarts. You are to stay here as well."

"I am to share a room with Voldemort?" Harry blurted bemused.

"Yes. And with me, as it so happens."

Harry looked up to Snape, horrified. What on earth had he done to deserve this?

"This is my personal quarters here at Hogwarts," Snape continued and pointed to a heavy-looking door on the right. "Over there is my office. Normally, you had to take a different corridor to get there."

Snape shifted his hand and pointed to another door. "My bedroom is behind that door. You are not allowed enter, ever."

Harry lifted his eyebrows. "Like I wanted to."

Snape's expression darkened. But instead of reprimanding Harry, he pointed to the elevated floor across the room, which was reachable by a wide staircase.

"Over there is a vacant room. I've never needed it. The Dark Lord will use it when he's here. You are not allowed to enter this room without permission either."

"Right," said Harry.

Snape ignored him, and continued: "On your left is another vacant – er – room. This will be yours."

Suddenly, Snape gave Harry a malicious smile. He walked around him and opened the door. It looked like a broom cabinet, much like his old cupboard under the stairs back at Privet Drive. Harry stared at it.

"As much I would like you to sleep on the floor…" Snape said, while waving his wand. He conjured a bed in the air, which levitated towards the cupboard, and hit the ground with a soft bump. "Here."

Snape turned to face Harry and gestured for him to come closer. Reluctantly, Harry complied. He got seized by his robes again and was unceremoniously pushed into the small room. He fell onto the bed and heard the door slam behind him.

" _Colloportus_ ," he heard from behind the door, followed by the sound of footsteps, telling him Snape left. Harry let out a sigh. How was this even fair? He'd lost his parents, Sirius, a man who was as close as a father, Dumbledore and most of the Order. All his protectors were gone. And after spending years with the Dursley's, he was now to live Snape and Voldemort in the same room.

Harry curled himself up on the bed and stared into the dark nothingness. How were Ron and Hermoine doing? And Ginny? Were they asleep already? Or were they laying awake, like him, wondering what had happened to him? Was the Order awake yet, facing whatever Voldemort had in store for them? And were was Hagrid, what had happened to him after the battle?

Something was prickling behind his eyes, and he couldn't keep the strength to push it down. Silent tears trickled over his cheeks. The suppressed guilt, which had slowly eaten him ever since Voldemort had taken him, now writhed and squirmed like some monstrous, weighty parasite in the whole of his chest. Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being Harry anymore… He had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody — anybody — else…

He wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not feel the horror inside him, where he didn't have to think, didn't have to feel… It was his fault. His fault Sirius was dead, his fault that the Order had spent months to look for him, rather than trying to stop Voldemort's attacks, and his fault that his friends were in danger too.

Harry began to tremble softly on the bed. Another wave of self-loathing swept through him. Now that he'd seen his friends, right with the victory of Voldemort at Hogwarts, he couldn't believe that he didn't think about their feelings before. He had been so busy with his own experiences, his own fears and miserable thoughts, that he hadn't thought about what he had done to them.

Harry closed his eyes. Feeling thoroughly exhausted, his body finally granted him with some sleep, whereas his mind was still set to haunt him with nightmares about crystal balls and dark graveyards.

* * *

Voldemort Apparated on the tiny island, far, far away from Hogwarts. The enormous tower of Azkaban hid the shade of moonlight, so that the Death Eaters, who were dragging the unconscious bodies, were covered in absolute darkness. Absentmindedly, Voldemort watched them disappear behind the entrance doors, while listening to the ruffles of the sea.

His mind was still at Hogwarts, where he'd left the boy with Severus Snape. And though he trusted Snape with his Horcrux, it didn't sit right with him. Before he left, he had checked his last Horcrux; Ravenclaw's diadem. It was still in the Room of Requirement, the Room of Hidden Things. In other words, safe. So, at least three of his Horcruxes were still intact. Actually four, counting the boy.

Voldemort had no hopes with the locket and the ring. He still hadn't found out who this R.A.B. was and whether this person was still out there, hunting his other Horcruxes. So until the identity was discovered, Harry had to remain safe. Alive.

"My lord, we're set up." Bellatrix had emerged from the darkness, bowing before Voldemort. Her eyes stared at him, glimmering with longing. Voldemort tilted his head and considered the woman before him.

"Thank you, Bella," he said and stepped a little closer. He traced his long, white finger down her cheek, ending with caressing her hair. She seemed close to collapse at his touch. He gave a soft chuckle. "And for your service, I will award you the honor of taking care of our guests."

"T-thank you, my lord," she whispered and pressed her lips against the back of his hand. He slowly pulled his hand back.

"Now, leave me, Bella. Go back inside. I trust you will take good care of our plans. I shall return tomorrow night."

Bellatrix endowed him another bow, and backed away slowly towards the door. Voldemort turned away, facing the sloshing water against the rocks. His presence here wasn't necessarily, his followers knew what to do. They've had this planned for months, before their raid on Hogwarts. And he had research to do. With a crack, echoing over the rumbling sea, he Dissapparated.

"Welcome back, my lord," said Snape over his book, when he entered Snape's quarters. He looked to the dark-haired figure in the armchair, next to the fire. Leisurely, he strode over to the vacant chair opposite of him and sat down.

"Thank you, Severus," he said softly, while caressing his wand. His gaze was still set upon the face of the man across him. The man returned the look.

"Where is our Chosen One?" asked Voldemort, using the phrase the _Daily Prophet_ had brought into the world, a few weeks before he had held house there. Snape smirked, and pointed his finger into the direction of Harry's cupboard.

"I reckon he is asleep now, my lord. I've been gracious enough to provide him a bed."

Voldemort returned Snape's smile. "Good. And I trust you've stayed here, to make sure he doesn't escape?"

"The door is locked. He won't be able to go anywhere. Not without a wand."

"Ah yes," said Voldemort softly. He reached inside his robes and retrieved Harry's wand, holding it next to his own. "Did you know, Severus, that there was a moment, back in the graveyard, were I forced young Harry to duel with me after my rebirth, in which these wands connected with each other?"

Snape didn't answer. He stared at the wands, but his face evidently showed what he knew exactly what Voldemort was talking about.

"My _Avada Kedavra_ got blocked by a simple Disarming Spell. Can you imagine? I've been wondering ever since… How was the use of such a simple spell able to form such a connection?" Voldemort continued. "Perhaps, I ought to pay Ollivander a visit. Surely, he will know. I doubt it is because of the strength of the boy…"

"Is that why you haven't killed Potter yet, my lord? Because of the wands' connection?"

Voldemort took his eyes of the wands and studied Snape's face. After a few moments of silence, Voldemort finally spoke, the contempt in his voice unmistakable audible.

"Do you think I'm fearful, Severus? Do you think I don't dare to kill the boy?"

"Of course not, my lord," Snape answered. His voice was calm, collected, and even his face betrayed no sign of fear. "I'm merely expressing wonder over your decision to keep the boy alive."

"Well, you're not the first," Voldemort replied coolly. "As I explained to Ackerly the other day, I've discovered something important, in which the boy is useful to me. I need him alive, for the time being."

"And may I ask what this important something is, my lord?" Snape tried.

"You may not, Severus, because you do not need to know. Harry possesses something I need to extract, that is all I will tell you. And all you need to remember is to keep the boy alive."

"Certainly, my lord. Forgive my curiosity," said Snape softly, giving no hint of any remorse. Voldemort paid him a soft smile.

"Speaking about curiosity, I am wondering whether you've an idea why these wands connected?"

Snape seemed to hesitate a little, before answering slowly. "Well, yes. Dumbledore told me, after Potter returned to the maze, that you and Potter share twin cores. His wand possesses a Phoenix feather, as well as yours. From the same Phoenix in fact."

"I see," said Voldemort very softly, gazing towards the ceiling, as though being lost in thought. "And the relevance of this shows in…?"

"According to Dumbledore, brother wands are not able to fatally harm one another. They can hurt each other, yes, but not kill."

"I see," Voldemort repeated, his eyes still upwards. "And you never thought to tell me this?"

"My lord," said Snape, a little too hastily, "I thought you knew, that you figured this out for yourself already."

"Is that so?" Voldemort asked softly, turning his eyes back at Snape. "I wasn't aware that Harry Potter's wand and mine share the same core, now was I?"

"Forgive me, my lord."

"What else are you not telling me, Severus?" whispered Voldemort dangerously. "What else has Dumbledore told you, what you're not sharing with your true master?"

His eyes bore into Snape's. The latter didn't blink, and returned the gaze with controlled expression.

"I'm not aware of withholding information from you, my lord," answered Snape slowly. "I am devoted to you, and only you."

There was a long pause in which the two men stared to each other. Finally, Voldemort seemed satisfied.

"I believe you, Severus. You will do everything in your power to help me, won't you?"

"Of course, my lord, naturally-"

Voldemort raised his hand and Snape stopped talking immediately.

"That will do. I trust you, Severus. Just make sure I am not wrong in doing so," said Voldemort and turned to the two wands again. "There's something else I want to ask you."

Snape remained silent, waiting apprehensively for the next question.

"Do you know anyone who bears the initials _R.A.B._?"

Voldemort watched Snape's expression with intent. The man really seemed to pounder this one over. So, Snape had no clue either…

"R.A.B. my lord? Is this person one of us?"

"That remains to be seen, but I do not think so," answered Voldemort. "I believe this person is very much against our cause."

"I can't think of anyone in the old Order whose name resembles these initials," said Snape slowly. "Are you looking for this person, my lord? Is he – or she perhaps – a great wizard?"

Voldemort rolled the two wands over in his hand, thinking Snape's question over. It must be a great wizard, someone able to hold great power. How else was this person able to find out his biggest secret? He doubted that even Dumbledore knew.

"B…" said Snape slowly, "could be Black?"

Voldemort shot Snape another look. Black? The thought was laughable. No Black would be able to find out. Besides, all the Blacks have always been loyal to him. Well, every Black apart from that blood traitor Animagus who recently got killed by dear Bellatrix. But his name didn't start with a R.

"You are thinking about your old departed enemy, Severus?" chuckled Voldemort softly.

"Well, not necessarily _him,_ " said Snape slowly, barely able to keep the contempt out of his voice, "but he had a brother, who had joined your ranks, as I recall. And his name does start with a R. Regulus Black, remember?"

"Ah yes, I remember," answered Voldemort slowly. Regulus Black. He had spared him no thought anymore after his disappearance. He knew that his boy was having second thoughts about joining his ranks, but his Death Eaters were never able to find him, and well, he wasn't that important anyway… The last thing he remembered was asking him about his house-elf, to test the defenses of the very same place where he'd found the fake locket…

"Well, it does fit, my lord," continued Snape, seemingly not aware of Voldemort mild shocked face. "Regulus' middle name was Arcturus, wasn't it? Named after his paternal grandfather?"

But Voldemort didn't answer. How was his even possible? But Snape was right, it fit. In fact, everything fit. This Regulus, disappearing so suddenly, right after borrowing his house-elf. But he'd left this house-elf to die… Around the very same time this Black-boy disappeared…

But did this creature actually die? Wasn't it the very same house-elf who was instructed to trick Harry into going to the Ministry?

And what did the note say? _'I know I will be dead long before you read this'_ Was Regulus dead then, after all? Or did he manage to escape?

 _Impossible,_ Voldemort thought. _The potion was very well designed. The Inferi have probably killed him. But that doesn't explain, how did he find out?_

"My lord?" Snape asked, when the silence remained for too long. Voldemort paid no attention to him. The conclusion slowly sank in and he felt rage beyond rage.

 _How is it possible? An house-elf and a young boy, discovering his secret? Destroying one of his priced possessions?_

"The house-elf, where is he?" he spat angrily towards Snape, who looked utterly taken aback.

"My lord?"

"This house-elf, the one who got instructed to lie to the boy, who serviced the Black family. Where is he?"

"You mean Kreacher?" Snape asked, slightly bewildered. "I believe he is still bound to his old house. I shall ask Narcissa, or Bellatrix-"

"Do it now, Severus. I need to speak to this house-elf. Take me to him."

Snape remained in his chair. Kreacher was bound to Grimmauld Place, the old headquarters of the Order. Was the protection-charm still intact? Was he able to bring him there, with the last Heir gone and Dumbledore dead?

"My lord," Snape said quietly, thinking out loud. "Kreacher served Sirius Black last. If I'm not mistaken, Black left his heritage, Kreacher included, to the Potter-boy… Which will mean-"

"Harry is in possession of this house-elf," Voldemort finished. He rose from his chair and turned towards the door of the cupboard. With one wave of his wand, the door flew open.

Harry shot awake. For a moment, he thought that the blinding pain, searing in his scar again, had woken him up. Wincing, and with one hand pressed onto the old wound, he rolled over on the bed and retched on the floor. The pain was unbearable. Voldemort must be really angry.

And before he could look up, to notice that the blast, which had opened the door, had woken him up, he got hauled from the bed and thrown on the floor. He looked up to see an enraged Voldemort towering above him.

"Gah!" he yelled involuntary, and backed away while trying to stand. Voldemort rushed closer to Harry and in an attempt to back away again, he tripped and fell backwards on the ground. Still with his hand pressed against his scar, he looked up.

"Wait! Wait, what did I do?" he shouted desperately, flinching when Voldemort grabbed his robes and pulled him back at his feet. He got shoved in one of the armchairs.

"Summon the house-elf Kreacher for me. _Now,"_ hissed Voldemort.

"What?"

Voldemort gave him a backhanded slap – hard – across his face. His head swung sideways and little lights twinkled before his eyes, followed by the pain of a massive headache. Voldemort grabbed his chin and pulled his head back, to face him again. Tears sprang in Harry's eyes, when the pain in his scar and his head reached its peak.

"I shall have to punish you, if you make me repeat myself again, do you understand? Now, _summon the house-elf Kreacher! Now!"_

"Okay, okay," Harry whimpered, while closing his eyes against the pain. "K-kreacher! KREACHER!"

To his surprise, a loud BANG sounded through the room, followed with Kreacher's shrieks of horror. Harry opened his eyes. Kreacher lay before him on the ground, pounding his tiny fists against the floor.

"No, no, no!" screeched Kreacher.

"Silence!" Voldemort bellowed, letting go of Harry's chin. But Kreacher's screams reached another volume, drowning Voldemort's command. He didn't seem to notice Voldemort, having his watery eyes closed while continuing to demolish the floor with his fists.

"Won't! Won't! Won't! "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't —"

"Command him to stop," commanded Voldemort, turning to glare at Harry. Feeling a little puzzled, Harry turned his face away from Voldemort and looked up a Kreacher again. What on earth was going on? Deciding it would be best to give in Voldemort's demands, Harry spoke.

"Kreacher, stop it and shut up."

It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, while lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, Kreacher gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing.

"Ah, so it worked then," said Voldemort softly, who had replaced his savage fury with a look of mild content. "It seems that your Godfather knew what he was doing, Harry."

Harry didn't say anything. It was as though an invisible hand had twisted Harry's intestines and held them tight. Slowly, the realization hit him that Sirius had left him everything he'd owned, including Kreacher… Did this mean number twelve, Grimmauld Place belonged to him too, now?

Kreacher had finally noticed Voldemort, as he was standing, plainly showing a mixture of fear and awe.

"Severus, we'll finish our conversation tomorrow. There are still some matters we need to discuss. I shall see you before breakfast," Voldemort said slowly.

Snape understood the dismissal. He got up from his chair, paid Voldemort a small nod and turned on his heels towards the right door, which he'd pointed earlier to Harry as his bedroom.

"And you," Voldemort continued, while taking his eyes of Kreacher to glare at Harry again, "command Kreacher to obey me. Make him obey my every command, make him tell the truth to every question I shall ask him."

"Yeah, okay," answered Harry, feeling somewhat sorry for Kreacher, ignoring the thought that he had told him that Sirius was never going to return from the Department of Mystifications, while it was evident Sirius wasn't there to begin with. Whatever Voldemort had in store for him, wasn't going to be pleasant…

"Kreacher, just obey Voldemort, okay? Do as he says, tell him whatever truth he asks of you, and well, listen to his commands," Harry said, hoping that his words were sufficient enough.

Kreacher gave a Harry a deep bow and paid him a last aghast look. He didn't mumble under his breathe anymore like normal, and appeared to upset to even think about it. Before Harry could wonder what would happen, Voldemort snapped his fingers. The chair in which Harry sat, turned over, and Harry rolled over the ground.

"Go back to bed, Harry. I have of no use for you anymore," he said and gestured for Kreacher to follow. Together, they left Snape's quarters.

Trembling, Harry got up and stared at the door. And then, against better judgment, against all the reasonable voices in his head, he walked over to the doorway. He saw Kreacher and Voldemort disappear behind the corner of the corridor, and with one last hesitation, he followed them.


	10. Chapter 10

As quietly as he could manage, Harry skulked along the wall of the long corridor. Hiding behind statues, he waited until the ruffles of black robes vanished around the corners. For one trembling second, he hesitated; caution murmured. But some kind of urge, overwhelming urge to get at least some scrape of information, told him to move along. He set off in pursuit.

He crossed the corner just in time to witness Voldemort shoving Kreacher inside the Potion's classroom. Harry halted at once and retreated behind the wall, so that Voldemort couldn't see him. After a few seconds, Harry dared to look. He glimpsed the tail of Voldemort's cloak disappearing around the door.

Slowly, Harry stepped away from his hiding place. Without making a sound, he advanced the closed door. His scar was burning merciless now, reaching a peak. He stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep him from screaming and closed his eyes. He could not fight the pain much longer: He had to succumb. With his other hand, he grasped his pounding head and collided with the wall. Then in an explosion of agony, he felt the rage that did not belong to him possess his soul, saw the insides of the dungeons lit only by firelight. Kreacher lay before him on the ground.

"You are supposed to be dead, aren't you?" Harry said, in a cold high-pitched voice. "And yet, here you lay before me. And Lord Voldemort is wondering – oh yes, wondering indeed – how this is possible…"

Kreacher blew green mucus from his snoutlike nose, and turned bloodshot, watery eyes upon Harry while pushing himself in a sitting position.

"I left you in the cavern, I left you to die," Harry went on, pacing a few steps back and forth. "Tell me what happened after I left."

"Kreacher needed water," began the elf slowly, and curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. His voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing dungeon. "He crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake… and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…"

"How did you get away?" Harry asked in a soft, high whisper.

Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked at Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.

"How did you escape the Inferi?" Harry inquired. Kreacher did not seem to understand.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated. "The house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding… Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home…"

Harry felt Voldemort consider Kreacher's words. How could he have been so foolish to overlook this? It had never occurred to him that house-elfs, creatures far beneath wizards, possess magic to outface _his_ highest defenses.

"And what happened next?"

"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," croaked Kreacher. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then… it was a little while later… Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell… and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave…"

"You brought him back to the cavern?" Harry hissed angrily. As he spoke, he saw flashes of Kreacher's memories flooding through his mind. _House-elfs could be subjected to Legilimency, then…_ Harry saw the dark outlines of the brick walls of the cavern, Kreacher explaining that the blood offer was to be made. He witnessed them sailing over the dark, black water.

"Yes," Kreacher replied. "M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had."

Tears were pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. "And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets… And he ordered — Kreacher to leave — without him. And he told Kreacher — to go home — and never to tell my Mistress — what he had done — but to destroy — the first locket. And he drank — all the potion — and Kreacher swapped the lockets — and watched… as Master Regulus… was dragged beneath the water… and..."

But Kreacher didn't need to explain what had happened on the island anymore, Harry followed his story within Kreacher's mind. Still enraged, he looked down on the sniveling house-elf.

"You took the locket – _my locket –_ to your old master's house," said Harry. "Where is it now? Is it still there?"

He doubted that this creature was able to succeed into destroying it. The thought was laughable, absurd. Kreacher was whimpering while still rocking himself back- and forwards. Images of Kreacher's futile attempts to destroy the locket filled Harry's head.

"The Mudbloods and the blood-traitors tried to dispose of it. B-but Kreacher stole the locket back… He kept it safe."

"Bring me to the locket," Harry demanded.

"K-kreacher can't!" screeched the elf, shivering from head to toe. "Kreacher can't bring in outsiders!"

These words seemed to make Voldemort even more livid. With a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes. He wasn't Voldemort anymore. He was standing outside of the dungeon, and heard Kreacher's rasp howls through the wall now… But before he could feel sorry for Kreacher, a sound like the crack of a whip, echoed through the air.

"POTTER!"

Harry startled. To his horror, a hooded man appeared from around the corner, stalking his way over to him. He didn't need to think for another second; avoiding the jinx the Death Eater had casted, Harry ran.

He raced towards the end of the hall and flung himself aside when another curse hit the wall right above his head. He sprang to his feet and darted towards the stairs. Jumping three steps at the time, Harry sprinted from floor to floor. All the while, his scar was still burning savagely. It look all the effort he could muster to block Voldemort's mind out of his own. He needed to concentrate on his own destressing situation now. Panting and gasping, he reached seventh floor, and slowed down next to the wall across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He bent double, clutching his side. He heard the sound of echoing footsteps behind him.

Frantically, Harry paced back and forth in the hall. _I need a place to hide – quickly. I need a place to hide. I need a place to hide, please-_

Immense relieve washed over Harry when the door appeared. Quickly, he grabbed the doorknob, pulled the door open, and ran inside. The door slammed shut behind him.

The room had turned in some kind of maze. A messy kind of maze at that: cabinets, stools, trunks and piles of sacks, books and broken items formed the walls. Harry squeezed himself between two closets and fell into the jumble of broken furniture. He dug his way out of the mess and started to run again, deeper and deeper in the maze of piled junk. Pain cleaved Harry's head like a sword stroke. The room and the junk dissolved in front of him.

"What did you say to me?" His voice was high and cold, but fury burned inside him.

"Kreacher is not allowed!" cried the house-elf. "Kreacher is bound to the rules of the secrecy. He can't show you where it is!"

"But surely you're able to fetch it for me, are you not?"

With flapping ears, Kreacher nodded.

"Then go!" Voldemort continued. "Go and bring me my locket!"

As he watched Kreacher vanish into thin air, he let his feelings overcome him. The one thing he had dreaded — but it could not be true, he could not see how… An house-elf and a eighteen year old boy, able to penetrate his defenses, to steal his most valuable possession.

The scream of rage, of denial left him as if it were a stranger's: He was crazed, frenzied, it could not be true, it was impossible… How was it possible that this Black boy could have discovered his secret, even when his house-elf had returned to him?

Dumbledore had found out, yes. He had been foolish enough to hint that back at the Ministry. Dumbledore had known… But he had been a powerful wizard. And he'd probably found out because of the boy, because of the boy's scar. He and the boy shared this connection, due to the night he accidentally left a piece of his soul, which had attached itself to Harry…

But how was this Regulus Black able to find out? Nobody else had ever known… Apart from his old teacher, and Dumbledore, nobody was able to understand this dark power. He himself didn't even know how to transfer a piece of his soul into another object. If he'd known, then the boy would be dead already…

The boy… Did he know now too? He had been standing behind the doorway, eavesdropping his interrogation of Kreacher. His faithful death eaters were searching him now…

 _You will pay for this, Harry,_ he thought. _And pay most severely._ Oh yes, he would pay indeed. Not only did he feel demented enough to torture the boy beyond insanity, for his darkest secret had been discovered, for the rage he felt because of it, but the boy was still bold enough to follow him, even when the risk had been dire…

With a gasp, Harry pulled back and opened his eyes. He lay face down on the floor, trembling uncontrollably. The pain in his scar sickened him. He'd just made another trip into Voldemort's mind.

Unable to get up, Harry continued to lie on the ground. Voldemort was angry; deranged with fury. His big secret had been discovered… And he, Harry, would pay for it… He must stay here, hidden, and work out a plan to escape. He already had felt enough of what damage Voldemort's rage could do… If only he still had his Invisibility Cloak… He didn't even know were his stuff was; his books, his trunk, the Marauder's map, Hedwig… Would they still be here at Hogwarts? He could retrieve his Cloak… Then he could creep away safely, he could go to Hermoine and Ron, and then sneak away together… If only he were able to Apparate himself… like Kreacher could…

Harry sat upright instantly. Kreacher! Kreacher had to fetch this locket for Voldemort. And then return to his mercy… He didn't know why, but felt it was important that Voldemort would not be able to get ahold of that locket. But would it work…?

"Kreacher," whispered Harry. His voice was barely audible; he felt too weak to speak. With a loud bang, Kreacher appeared, still looking like he could collapse any minute.

"Master called for Kreacher?" he said, and paid Harry a stiff bow.

"Kreacher," Harry whispered again, looking at the frail creature in front of him. "Are you- are you alright?"

He never had much feelings for Kreacher, but seeing him standing so miserably, made Harry's precious anger towards him drop marginally. Kreacher stared at him, and then suddenly, without warning, he launched himself to the ground and began to sob uncontrollably.

"Kreacher!" Harry screamed, and kneeled beside the elf. "Kreacher, are you- what is the ma-?"

"Kreacher saw him!" gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth.

"Saw him? Saw who?" Harry asked shakenly, thinking about Voldemort.

Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.

"Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher's cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher's treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran..."

"What? Mundungus Fletcher? What do you mean-?"

"The Dark Lord ordered Kreacher to bring him the locket, master Regulus' locket! But Mundungus Fletcher had it, and then ran, and the Kreacher had to come here!" he sobbed, sniffing his snout in the rag he wore. Harry looked at him, thinking fast.

"Kreacher, do you know why Voldemort wants it so badly?"

"Kreacher doesn't know. He has never told Kreacher," answered Kreacher, whose sobbing has subsided a little.

"Okay, Kreacher, well – Aah!"

Harry clutched his head and collapsed on the ground. For the third time this night, Voldemort's mind penetrated his; Kreacher and the room were gone; he was now looking down on a hooded man, kneeling in front of him.

"M-my lord," stammered the hooded man, his eyes wide with terror, "m-my lord… he's g-gone, we can't find him… we chased him through the castle… h-he disappeared…"

"Where?" murmured Voldemort. "Where did he disappear?"

"On the s-seventh floor, m-my lord. There's no sign of him…" The man was trembling, unable to meet the red eyes high above his.

"The seventh floor?" Voldemort whispered softly, stepping away from the kneeling man.

"W-we heard him t-there last…" the man continued. "We heard s-stumbling, and then, the hallway w-was clear… W-we think-"

But Voldemort has raised his hand to silence the man. He turned to a group of death eaters who were standing apprehensively along the wall in the Potion's classroom.

"I shall look for the boy myself. He will not be able to hide from me. The rest of you are to return to the Great Hall. And you-" Voldemort's eyes flickered back at the kneeling man. "Alert Snape. Tell him to wait for me."

Harry's eyes shot open. He was back in the Room of Requirement, back with Kreacher, who backing away slowly and clearly showed that he thought Harry's was out of his mind.

"Kreacher," Harry croaked, and sat upright again. The pain in his scar made it difficult for him to concentrate. "Kreacher, listen to me. Go and find Mundungus Fletcher, please. Try to steal back the locket, but don't give it to Voldemort! Keep it safe, keep it well-hidden this time. And then hide yourself, okay? Make sure Voldemort or the death eaters are not able to find you."

"Kreacher will take back the locket, master, and then Kreacher will hide himself and the locket," said Kreacher, and gave a small bow.

"Yes, good. Now go. Voldemort is coming."

Kreacher gave another small bow and vanished with the same, loud crack. Harry got to his feet and looked around. Voldemort would come to the seventh floor… alone. Why? Why not send his followers or bring some of them along? Did he know about the Room of Requirement? Was he already set to find Harry here?

From behind the piles of mess, Harry heard a door open. He scolded himself inwardly. He should have asked the room to enable anyone else for entering, to make it accessible only for him. He crouched down and hid himself behind a pile of broomsticks and broken, empty frames.

How did Voldemort know how to enter anyway? Was the door still visible? Had he asked for Harry's hiding place? The sound of a closing door echoed through the room. Harry froze, trying to stop himself from making another sound.

"I know you are here, Harry," whispered Voldemort dangerously. His voice was carried through the whole of the room. "And there will be no escape for you now."

Harry heard the soft sound of footsteps. He placed his hand over his mouth, so that his heavy breathing wouldn't give him away.

"I give you five seconds to come to me, to give yourself up." His voice was higher now, colder. Harry closed his eyes. His scar was reaching a peak. Seconds passed by, and Harry stayed where he was. He tried in vain not to listen to the footsteps nearing still.

Something bright, something scarlet burned through his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes just in time to spot a flying cabinet, heading his way. And then the world resolved itself into pain and semidarkness: He was half buried in the wreckage of a room that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding copiously.

Slowly, he pushed shatters of wood off of him and rolled over the pieces of rumble. He stood, swaying, more frightened than he had been that these past minutes. He coughed blood out of his mouth and tried to walk a few paces. Something soft made him lose grip; his back and head collided with the wall and he sank through his knees. His arms lay limply on the ground; his vision was blurred. Harry saw the vague contours of a dark figure, emerging from the hazy mist in front of him.

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't find you, Harry?" said the dark figure, with a cold high voice. He became close to passing out…

" _Re_ _nnervate_ ," whispered the voice and the room became much clearer. The damage the blast had down was now visible. The sickening pain which had tried to take Harry, subsided lightly. Harry saw Voldemort standing before him, looking more enraged than Harry had ever seen him, while also possessing an hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I want you to experience this in full measure, Harry," whispered Voldemort ominously. " _Crucio!"_

* * *

 **Note:**

As you might have noticed, I used actual parts of the book (Kreacher's Tale). This way, this fan fic will resemble the actual story more.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning: minor charachter death**

* * *

More than a thousand white-hot knifes were cutting, piercing and twisting in every inch of his skin. Behind tightly squeezed eyelids, his eyes were rolling madly in his head; his body convulsing under the pressure of his torment. He wasn't sure whether his scar had spilt open already; he wasn't even sure where he was and why he had to endure this lancinating agony.

"More, Harry?" sounded Voldemort's high, cold merciless voice through Harry's screams. "Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time."

Ten seconds passed, and then twenty and thirty, and finally the pain started to pull back like the tide going out. The dull after-ache was still lingering in his body, reminding him of the power of the Cruciatus Curse.

"Tell me what you heard," whispered Voldemort softly.

Harry rested limply against the broken wall, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. His body was shivering feverishly; his scar searing past endurance. Harry thought he'd become accustomed to the pain about now, that it would become easier to cope with, but he couldn't be more wrong.

He braced himself when Voldemort raised his wand. The world of excruciating pain returned in full measure. His throat was barely able to support his screaming. In an effort to escape, his back pounded desperately against the wall; his legs were scraping the floor. The white-hot knifes were cutting mercilessly; his bones were on fire. Every muscle and every tissue in his body screamed for release; every cell in his body begging to pass out…

It hurt so bad he could hardly negotiate the raw outlines of the environment that strobed in and out of focus all around him. He was going to lose his mind; lose the battle with his protesting body to finally give in – to beg for the pain to stop. There was no room for dignity anymore, no room for self-respect; he didn't care. He couldn't take it any longer…

"Stop!" Harry cried, when he felt the burning increase. "Stop! Please, _please_ …"

"I won't stop," called Voldemort's voice, drowning Harry's pleas. "You think you have felt pain thus far? We have hours ahead of us and I don't think I'm quite satisfied yet."

"No! No, _please!_ " Harry managed to yell, before screaming to the pain again.

"As much as I enjoy your begging, Harry, it won't do you any good," sneered Voldemort. He watched as Harry doubled over, away from the wall and began to roll over the ground. His hands clutched his head; his palm ironed his scar and the screaming increased its volume.

Voldemort lowered his wand, ending the curse. The boy was getting awfully close to losing his mind. That mustn't happen… Not right now anyway. He watched Harry's body shudder uncontrollably; his screaming had reduced to soft whimpers. Voldemort felt marginally less angry; Harry's desperate pleading had lifted his spirits.

Harry continued to shiver. He slowly got up and staggered sideways to the wall. His legs barely supported him, but he managed to keep standing. Panting, he looked up to Voldemort whose bright eyes pierced into his.

"A little pause," whispered Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement. "A little moment of respite… In which you will tell me exactly what you've overheard, won't you?"

Still panting, Harry kept looking at Voldemort. He pressed himself tighter to the wall when Voldemort approached him and flinched when he brought his hand close to Harry's cheek. The long finger traced over Harry's face and then grabbed his chin. Harry's eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, now more terrible than ever.

"Look at me, Harry," said Voldemort very softly, taping with his index finger on Harry's cheek. His scar seared and burned… The pain of it was making his eyes stream... Slowly, he opened them and looked into Voldemort's.

Images of a kneeling Kreacher flickered through his mind. Kreacher's raspy voice rang in his ears, followed by his sobbing and moaning. He was standing in the dungeons, in Snape's classroom, staring down at Kreacher. Kreacher said something, but Harry didn't understand it; the pain in his scar captivated him, making it impossible to concentrate.

Suddenly, Harry was in the hallway, running away from the death eaters. And then, he ran in the Room of Requirement. Kreacher and the dungeon reappeared, only to disappear again and Harry found himself on the ground, trembling as bad as he did now. Kreacher was laying beside him and Harry heard himself speak.

" _Try to steal back the locket…"_ His voice was faint, mumbling, but this time Harry was able to hear the words.

" _Keep it safe, keep it well-hidden this time. Make sure Voldemort or the death eaters are not able to find you."_

And then Kreacher dissolved. Voldemort was standing before him, looking more deranged then before. Harry felt his nails dug deeper into his skin and he closed his eyes again.

"How is it possible that a little, pathetic being such as yourself is able to thwart my every move?" Voldemort hissed, his hand vibrating so heavily that Harry's head shook. "How is it possible that you keep resisting me, keep defying me?"

Voldemort let go of his chin and slapped him hard across the face. The movement made Harry stumble and he had to grip the wall for preventing himself from falling. He couldn't close his eyes any longer, not with the thread of a very angry Voldemort before him.

"Apparently I am too soft with you… I'm not punishing you hard enough…" said Voldemort ominously. He raised his wand.

"No, wait!" Harry croaked desperately, struggling to find his voice. "Wait, please. I – I …"

But what could he say? He wasn't going to bring Voldemort to 12 Grimmauld Place nor was he going to summon Kreacher to him. He didn't have anything to bargain to evade Voldemort's fury. He wasn't even sure whether Voldemort would keep his promise not to hurt his friends, since he obviously hadn't. Maybe it would just be best to take the pain.

Voldemort seemed to have caught on with his thoughts, for he was smiling, giving Harry a menacing glare.

"There is something blocked inside your mind, Harry," he whispered. "And given the fact you're such a terrible liar, you can't have done that on your own… What are you forced to protect?"

Harry didn't answer. Obviously the Fidelius Charm was still intact, otherwise Voldemort would be able to see it… But how could this be? With Dumbledore and Sirius gone, he didn't even know who was Secret-Keeper now… Was it possible that he was? Was the charm strong enough to withstand Legilimency?

Now more than ever he wished he'd paid attention to stuff like this. If only he could be a little more like Hermoine, then he'd know whether the secret could be passed on and to whom. Professor Flitwick had explained, in Harry's third year, that the Keeper must choose to divulge the secret… Harry had overheard him when he was visiting Hogsmeade without permission. So, if he, Harry, didn't choose to share the location, would pure determination be enough to keep Voldemort at a distance?

Harry avoided Voldemort's scrutinizing glare, just in case. He pressed his lips together and looked behind Voldemort.

"This is your last chance, Harry, your last chance to escape another punishment… I suggest you take it," hissed Voldemort. But when Harry still didn't answer, still refused to look at him, Voldemort's patience ran out.

"Very well. _Crucio!"_

Absentmindedly, he watched the boy writhe and scream on the floor. Even Harry's cries couldn't stop him from wandering in his own mind. The boy had seen him and Kreacher in the dungeon together, through his own eyes. He already knew that the boy could witness his conversations and actions, through this connection he and Harry shared, but that had only been possible when the boy was asleep… when he was dreaming… Apparently, he was mistaken. The boy could travel in his mind on demand, could see what he sees while being awake.

 _It must stop_ , he thought while watching Harry roll around over the floor. _If the boy is able to see what I am doing, I would be risking exposer of my secrets. He will know far more than I want him to…_

He shall have to use Occlumency for a while, to unable the boy from entering his mind. Yes, with Occlumency, he'd be safe. He heard Harry's scream increasing, heard the desperate pleas, but ignored them. The boy had ordered this house-elf to hide the locket… To hide altogether. He was nowhere closer to his locket than he'd been a few hours earlier. But at least, the Horcrux was still whole; undamaged.

Voldemort's eyes flickered through the room. It looked different than the last time he'd been here. Harry had found this place as well… Maybe in an act of desperation, but nevertheless, he'd found it and with that, his other Horcrux, the diadem, wasn't safe here anymore. He would have to move it, together with the locket he was going to get back from Harry.

But first, he had to take a different approach; merely inflecting torturous pain onto the boy wouldn't help him into retrieving the piece of his soul. No… It hurt Harry the most when he would threaten – torture – kill – his beloved friends. The boy hated it when others had to suffer because of him. And now it was time to finally use this against him.

A new idea popped into his head. Tomorrow, the new regime at Hogwarts would start… Why not kick it off with a round of punishments for the whole school to see? It would certainly leave an impression…

He turned his gaze back at Harry, who had stopped shouting, but was still gritting his teeth in a silent scream. Minutes most have passed; maybe even a quarter of an hour… Far too long for to be subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. He lowered his wand. Harry stopped writhing immediately; he lay motionlessly on the ground, having passed out…

 _Levicorpus,_ Voldemort thought and gave a little flick with his wand. Harry got hoisted up in the air at once; dangling by his ankle, as though an invisible hand held him there. Voldemort gave another flick of his wand and Harry floated away from his, across the room, towards the door. Voldemort followed the dangling boy.

He stepped out of the Room, went down the stairs, and walked his way back to the dungeons, where Snape was instructed to wait for him. He would pick up the diadem tomorrow. There was no need to walk around with the little crown for accidental bystanders to see.

Voldemort approached the door of Snape's quarters. It opened on his command and he looked straight into Snape's face, who was visible unnerved at the sight of him and Harry.

"You-you found him, my lord?" asked Snape quite unnecessary, for Harry was hanging mid-air.

"Naturally," Voldemort replied, and made Harry drop on the sofa next to the fire. The boy didn't wake. Voldemort took a seat opposite of Snape. There was no window in the room, but Voldemort knew the night had passed already; it was nearly morning.

"I trust that you've figured out by now how dangerous it can be to leave Harry alone," whispered Voldemort slowly. "It was foolish of you to urge me for letting him remain here... However, the fault is not entirely yours, Severus."

Snape didn't speak. Long experiences with the Dark Lord had taught him that remaining silent would be the best decision.

"I will show you mercy, Severus," Voldemort continued. "What happened tonight will change nothing to the plans. In a few hours, the students of Hogwarts are to be waken. You will announce yourself as their new Headmaster. The _Daily Prophet_ is already aware, there will be a niece little piece about our stabilization of Hogwarts. No doubt they shall contact you for an interview. Make it nice."

"My lord, I am most humbled," Snape stammered, "I cannot thank you enough-"

"That will do," interrupted Voldemort. "I am not finished. I trust that you are quite capable of running this school into perfection. I will leave it in your competent hands. Consult with the Carrows and with the Malfoys. There are still some positions that need to be filled.

"In the meantime, wait for Bellatrix' word. I respect the teachers of Hogwarts and their qualities. No doubt they will come to realize how foolish they've been. I want them to return to Hogwarts to teach."

"Yes, my lord. It shall be done."

"Good. I've sent Ackerly and Rowle to find and capture Horace Slughorn. I remember him being a quite competent teacher. He will have to continue teaching Potions. Wait for Ackerly's word as well."

Snape nodded. His eyes flickered toward Harry and away again. "And what about Potter?"

"The boy will remain here, for now…" answered Voldemort, following Snape's eyes to Harry. "In time, I shall take him to Azkaban where he belongs… But first, there's something I need him to do. He'll need a little motivation… and part of that motivation happens to be here at Hogwarts."

Suddenly, Snape flinched and gripped his left underarm, as though he had received an electrical shock. Voldemort felt it too; they were calling him. Something was happening…

"Rest now, Severus," answered Voldemort to Snape's questioning look. "You are in charge here, do not fail me."

And before Snape could give a small nod, or a bow, Voldemort rose from his chair and walked towards the door. Then he stopped, and turned sideways to pay Harry one last glance.

"Make sure he doesn't go anywhere until I return." And with that, he vanished out of sight.

* * *

Voldemort Apparated at the Ministry, the place were the Death Eaters had tried to summon him. He didn't need to ask why; jets of bright lights, in all colors, fired across the Atrium. Pieces of broken statues littered the hall, and the biggest statue, the one on the fountain, was somehow on fire. People were running – shouting and jinxing each other at random. It was hard to tell which side had the upper hand in this riot: Voldemort stepped out of the way when a pair of Death Eaters flew through the air; one hit the wall and collapsed on the ground, the second Death Eater caught a piece of stone mid-air, and crashed into another Death Eater.

Their attackers jeered and proceeded to fire more spells, but were stopped by Yaxley, who had emerged from the dust and rumble and casted a well-aimed Stunning at the rebelling group. The wizard in the middle doubled over as the one on his right crashed into his falling body. The third wizard shifted his glasses and ducked when a jet of red light made the few red hairs on his head stand upright.

Arthur Weasley turned around and pointed his wand at Yaxley. Two curses met each other; both men were forced backwards as their curses rebounded on one another. Mr. Weasley's head collided with the edge of the fountain, and remained motionlessly on the ground. Yaxley hit the balcony railing, doubled over the rim and fell one storey down to the ground level. Voldemort had seen enough.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Voldemort, ringing his high cold voice through the whole of the Atrium. The fight got ceased at once. Some froze to their spots, wands still raised; others turned to the face source of the howl.

"It's him!" a few whispered. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he's here!"

"Silence," whispered Voldemort dangerously and he stepped to the middle of the hall. Someone had broken free of the crowd and charged at Voldemort.

" _Stupefy!"_

With a simple flick of his wand, Voldemort conjured an invisible shield. A loud _gong_ sounded through the air as the shield rejected the Stunning Spell. The man hit the ground, Disarmed, Voldemort throwing the challenger's wand aside and laughing.

"And who are you? Who is foolish enough to demonstrate what happens to those who defy Lord Voldemort?"

The remaining Death Eaters laughed delightfully.

"That is Amos Diggory, my lord," answered Dolohov. "He works Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"You killed my son!" roared Mr. Diggory, trembling; his hands clenched into fists.

"Did I?" said Voldemort softly and tilted his head, as if he was studying the man before him. "And who might your son be?"

"Cedric," answered Mr. Diggory dignified. "Cedric Diggory. He faced you during his last task of the Triwizard Tournament."

Voldemort's high-pitched laughter rang through the air, with him a couple of Death Eaters joined in.

"Oh, but you should know that I haven't paid any attention to your son. His death was ordered by me, yes, but only because he was standing in the way. I had no use of him… So I made my Death Eater dispose of him…"

"You-you," stammered Mr. Diggory, his voice cracking. Voldemort laughed again when he saw the man in front of him brake.

"But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave man?" Voldemort asked Mr. Diggory. "You've showed me spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. We need your kind, Amos Diggory."

"The hell I won't!" roared Mr. Diggory, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd.

"Very well," said Voldemort with much danger in the silkiness of his voice. "If that is your decision, then so be it. _Avada Kedavra!"_

A flash of green light blinded everyone in the Atrium; Mr. Diggory sank through his knees and hit the ground with a dry thud. The Death Eaters laughed and Voldemort's lipless mouth curled into a smile.

"Are there any other volunteers?" he asked the crowd. They remained silent. Horrified, they gazed at Mr. Diggory's lifeless body.

"Then let this be a warning," he continued. "Lord Voldemort is forgiving, he will forgive your foolish moment of defiance. Changes can be difficult, Lord Voldemort understands this. But in time, you all will come to realize that in order to create a better place, changes are indeed necessary. We shall have to purify our world; dispose ourselves of the rotting, and with my wisdom and my guidance, we will be able to rise up in a new, superior area.

"I suggest you carry on," Voldemort ended his speech calmly. He turned his back to the crowd and addressed the Death Eater closest to him. He spoke very quietly, so that the others couldn't hear him.

"This is the last time I have to intervene. If you're not able to control them, then the same fait of Amos Diggory will await you."

"Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord," the Death Eater said, while bowing.

"Good. Now send the body to his wife. She should know of her husband's passing," he said and walked over to Mr. Weasley's motionless body. He kicked his foot in the man's chest.

"And who is this hero?" he asked Yaxley, who had regained consciousness.

"Arthur Weasley, my lord. The was a member of the former Order of the Phoenix."

"Ah yes, I can see the resemblances with his family. He should join his sons in Azkaban, shouldn't he?" Voldemort returned Yaxley's laughter.

"Certainly, my lord."

"See to it," Voldemort demanded. "Hand him over to Bellatrix. And then return here to keep this lot under control. Make sure that you do, Lord Voldemort won't be so merciful next time."

"Yes, my lord," said Yaxley, whose laughing stopped immediately at the threat. Voldemort turned his back at him. He had foreseen this little riot, it was his fault after all. He had spent the previous year carefully planning his rise of power. It should have gone quietly, carefully; not even noticeable to the observant eyes.

The plan had been to gain followers; to let them infiltrate the Ministry. The coup should have been smooth and virtually silent. Of course people would deduce what was happening in time, and they would whisper, but that was exactly the intent: To make people wander, but not dare to speak out loud; to prevent people from confiding in each other, not knowing whom to trust; in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted.

Yes… Declaring himself as their new ruler would provoke open rebellion, as it had done now… Remaining masked would have created perfect confusion, uncertainty, and fear. But he had exposed himself before this plan could have been set in motion and he had proceeded his plans too quickly. He could only hope that his little show had scared them enough, that the death of Amos Diggory was enough of a warning to prevent people from trying to rebel again…

With both the Ministry and Hogwarts in his grasp, not to mention the Boy Who Lived, their hope must die. Their great hero's, their great protectors, were gone, or locked up. He would have executed Harry in the open, if he'd not been another Horcrux.

But there was still another way. Harry was his now and he shall let the world know: The Boy Who Lived would no longer be their hero, their tiny flicker of hope. Harry would join him, and openly declare himself to be another servant, to have switched sides with Voldemort. Yes…

And with the new plan he'd in store for him, it wouldn't be too difficult to achieve this. Laughing maniacally, Voldemort Apparated… back to Hogwarts.

* * *

 **Note:**

There might be a lot of errors in this one, more than usual: I wrote this chapter very quick. Since I never reread anything (bad, I know), I probably missed them. Sorry!


	12. Chapter 12

No sound was made in the Great Hall. Snape stood on the teacher's platform, the same way Voldemort had done the night previous, and looked down on the students. A few glared back, others were glancing at the table. The beds were gone; everyone had been instructed to take a seat and wait for their new Headmaster to speak. The Death Eaters paced among the tables, making sure the students remembered to keep silent.

"A little announcement to all of you," Snape started, looking across the hall without emotion, "before we will resume the day. There are a few adjustments you need to take in account.

"First of all, since there are no more houses, new sleeping arrangements are to be made. We have expanded the Slytherin dormitory. All boys are to use this dormitory. Your bedrooms are still divided by the years you're in. You will, however, share the same common room, of course. We have done the same with the Hufflepuff's dormitory. This one is only accessible for the girls. Again, you share the bedroom with the students of your year."

The teenagers tore their glare from Snape to share looks with each other. Every expression displayed disbelieve; Ron raised his eyebrows to Hermoine, who looked back at him, with traces of bewilderment on her face. Ginny was hissing silently.

"Second," Snape resumed, without acknowledging the shifts around the students, "you will find new rules concerning blood status. Muggleborns will experience limitations, whereas purebloods are supported into getting the treatment they deserve – "

People started to whisper now, looking concerningly at their Muggleborn friend or sharing angry looks of astonishments with one another. The Slytherins, however, applauded approvingly. It caused the Gryffindors to roar up too, shouting insults across the table.

"Silence!" bellowed Alecto Carrow with her shrieking, wheezing voice, pointing her wand to a couple of Gryffindors, who had been standing, ready to throw their plates at the laughing Slytherins. Her threatening wand seemed to be enough; slowly the silence returned.

"Thank you," said Snape slowly, nodding his head to the stocky little witch. "We will elaborate the extent of this new rule in a new subject to your curriculum. You will find it on your school schedule, the classes are mandatory. The subject Muggle Studies will be equally compulsory.

"Thirdly," continued Snape, his voice a little higher, drowning the anew, soft whispers across the Hall, "since there are no more houses, there'll be no more point system. This means that we will manage a different disciplinary system. You will come to find out that we will handle violators more severely.

"And lastly, some of you were appointed prefects and Head boy and girl over the summer. This decision of the previous Headmaster shall be revoked. Only purebloods are allowed to carry this noble title. The new appointing will take place after lunch. Now it is time to fresh yourselves up. New robes will be provided for you, you will find them on your new beds in your new dormitories. You will meet here for lunch and then continue the day with lessons. It is, after all, still the start of a new term. Is anything unclear?"

"What is going to happen to our Gryffindor Tower?" asked Ron loudly, highly offended. He had deep bags under his eyes; a result of having no sleep at all. His question was met by agreeing murmurs from other Gryffindors, all equally offended and not shy in their hostile glaring at Snape.

"Yes, and our Ravenclaw Tower?" asked another boy. The students around here nodded fervently. They too seem to be offended.

"Silence," whispered Snape softly. "Weasley, Carmichael, you two will be the first to receive detention this year. You shall also be the first examples of the consequences with the new discipline system. Report yourselves to Alecto Carrow after I'm done."

The sloping-shouldered, stocky little woman gleamed sadistically towards Ron and Eddie. Ron gave her a look of utter disgust.

"As to answer your question," Snape carried on, "we've no use of the towers. They'll remain as they are for the time being, until we will find another use for them. You are not allowed to enter. But then again, you will not be able to: the portraits shall be removed."

Snape looked around the Hall. His lips curled into a malicious smile when his eyes rested upon the defeated Gryffindors. The Slytherins were applauding again, jeering at the other students, but nobody replied their mocking this time. Slowly, Snape raised his hand, gesturing for silence.

"Since there are no more questions, you are dismissed. We will continue after lunch."

The students got up. The girls followed the former Hufflepuffs to their new dormitory; the boys reluctantly followed the Slytherins, having apart from them, no idea where they were heading to. Eddie Carmichael slowly got up and walked over to the female Carrow. Ron, however, didn't move. Hermoine remained seated as well, with a terrified look on her face.

"Didn't you hear your Headmaster?" wheezed Alecto Carrow at Hermoine. She strode over to their table. "Or do you want to get punished as well?"

"Just go, Hermoine," hissed Ron, without looking at her. "I will be fine. Go, I'll will catch up with you later."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," giggled Carrow. "No listen to your boyfriend. Leave!"

Hermoine gave another look at Ron, mumbled a soft "good luck" and hurried towards the doors. There she glanced back over her shoulder, but the doors were moving, shutting her out and blocking the sight of Ron. She turned away from the door. With her sleeve she wiped the tears out of her eyes.

"Come on, Hermoine," said Parvati silently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her other arm was around Lavender, who too had tears in her eyes.

"Padma, help me please," she said to her twin sister. She did, taking over Hermoine and holding her in a soft embrace.

"Come on, we will be alright. Let's follow Hannah and Susan," Padma said, pointed at the two girls at the end of the hallway, both looking extremely anxious. Hermoine hiccupped and nodded. Together they began walking, but froze when they heard two boys scream.

"Ron!" screamed Hermoine, and turned back. "No! No, we've got to go back. Ron!"

"We can't help them," said Padma, but her voice was cracking. "Come on, let's go."

Hermoine was still sobbing, but allowed Padma to drag her away, while Parvati supported a crying Lavender.

A few corridors further, Voldemort pushed open the door to Snape's quarters. The room was empty, Snape and the boy were gone. He knew Snape was attending to the students. And since he'd left Harry to weak to be able to do anything, Snape must have locked him up again. With his wand, he opened the door to Harry's new cupboard and found the boy curled up on his tiny bed, shivering uncontrollably.

"Wake," he hissed, but Harry didn't open his eyes. He pointed his wand at him. "I said, _wake_! _Rennervate."_

A flash of brilliantly colored red light lit Harry up. It didn't work. His eyes twitched for a few seconds, but remained closed. Harry's shivering was the only sign that he was still alive.

" _Enervate!_ " Voldemort tried again, using a different, more powerful spell. This time, Harry opened his eyes and gave a cry of pain. His hand shot at his scar. Voldemort stepped back when Harry leaned over the edge of his matrass and threw up.

" _Evanesco_ ," whispered Voldemort, looking mildly disgusted. He waved his wand; the vomit vanished. "Get up."

Harry seemed unable to do so. Still shivering, he fell back onto the bed. Voldemort felt his patience ran out. He grabbed Harry by his robes and hauled him into the room. Harry sank to his knees immediately, turned sideways and fell on the floor. His trembling increased.

"You are weak, Harry Potter," said Voldemort, while looking down at the sick boy in front of him. "I daresay you have learnt your lesson now, have you not? As you are not able to bear the consequences of your defiance. Now, get up. We do not have all day…"

"L-leave me a-alone," muttered Harry. He was aching everywhere, from his toes to his pounding head. He didn't know where he was and how he had gotten here. He felt Voldemort's presence more than he could hear his voice. His stomach protested with sickness. He felt the urge to cry, to shout, to break free from his aching body and to black out again, all at once. Voldemort gave a soft chuckle. He reached inside his robes and took out a tiny flask.

"Ah, and there you are again… Here, drink this," he said and crouched down to hand over the flask. Harry managed to look at it, and shook his head.

"I won't."

"You will drink," said Voldemort dangerously. "It is not poisonous. This potion will help you feel better. Now drink or I will force it down your throat!"

"Get off me!" Harry continued to shake his head and turned away. Voldemort grabbed his hair, forced his head backwards, so that he was facing the ceiling, unable to move. He pressed his lips tightly together, but Voldemort shook his head viciously, making Harry scream with pain. A weird, prickling substance was forced in his mouth; the peppery burned his palate; he coughed. He couldn't prevent the potion from burning his throat too; Snape's room came into sharper focus, and so did Voldemort himself… He looked furious, with his red eyes inches away from Harry's. He coughed again; the aching was scantily leaving his body – even his scar was less painful; he didn't shiver anymore. Voldemort let him go, and Harry fell backwards again, not prepared for the absence of his support.

"That is better, is it not?" said Voldemort slowly, stowing the potion back into his robes. "Show me some gratitude, Harry, if you do not want me to repeat last night…"

Harry scrambled to his feet, avoiding Voldemort's incessant glare. He still felt weak; exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for weeks, which was partly true.

"You're going to that anyway," said Harry, "you want to know the secret that I'm keeping, and I'm not going to tell you, so you'll probably torture me again."

"Oh, but you will tell me, Harry," said Voldemort maliciously, "and yes, I think torture will be a very efficient tool to get me what I want…"

Harry suppressed a shudder. He finally met Voldemort's red eyes and glared back at them. "Are you sure? Because I haven't told you, even after you drove me almost insane. I will never tell you."

"Harry, there are more ways than pain to torture you. We shall see how you can resist them," said Voldemort softly. "But first, you and I will go on a little trip. Follow me."

"Were are we going?"

"You'll see," answered Voldemort, while heading towards the door. He waited for Harry to come, but the latter didn't move. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"My patience with you is running out, foolish child, and I am not sure I will forgive your defiance any longer," sounded Voldemort's calmest, but most dangerous voice. "I advise you to obey. _Now_."

Harry slowly walked toward him. The moment he was close enough, Voldemort seized his wrist and pulled him through the doorway. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar, and though he was getting used to the burning, he still had trouble with not screaming out loud.

"Let me go," said Harry and struggled to pull his arm away. "I will follow you, okay? Just let me go."

Voldemort chuckled softly in his ear. "Your scar is hurting you, is it not?"

"Yeah, that," breathed Harry, now closing his eyes to the pain. "And I don't want you to drag me around."

Voldemort let him go. Instead, he pushed Harry in front of him. "Walk then."

The pain in Harry's head lessened. Feeling unnervingly vulnerable, with Voldemort right behind him, he walked. Voldemort led him to the entrance hall, through the great big doors, across the field and towards the gates. All the while, they didn't speak to each other and Harry didn't hear any other sounds. He silently wondered where the others were and to where Voldemort was taking him. When they reached the gates, Voldemort grabbed his wrist again. The pain in his forehead pierced him, and he couldn't breathe as he was pressed very hard from all directions.

And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry fell to his knees, and his scar relaxed a little when Voldemort relinquished him. Harry squinted around through the darkness. The air around them had frozen: Harry's breath caught and solidified in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness, moving in a great wave around what seemed to be a heavily great tower, their faces hooded and their breath rattling… Harry's heart sank. _Dementors._ Voldemort had Apparated them at Azkaban. He was going to get locked up, he was going to be forced to endure Dementors; he was going to be persuaded into telling Voldemort's his secrets, the torture Voldemort had mentioned moments ago…

In the distance, he heard Voldemort's voice, becoming more clearer and harder, ringing into his ears: _Watch your friends die a painful death… Their deaths will be on your hands… You have permitted others to die for you…_

Harry couldn't see. He was blinded by thick, dark fog; drowning him… Suddenly, Voldemort's voice was replaced by another, a warmer voice, but the spoken words were dreadful nonetheless… _There's nothing you can do, Harry… nothing… He's gone…_

"Leave our presence," ordered Voldemort, who was still standing. "I need the boy. Leave…"

Harry felt himself fall forward onto the grass. Facedown, too weak to move, sick and shaking, he opened his eyes. The dementors were slowly drifting away, towards the great tower and the voices of Lupin, telling Sirius was gone, and Voldemort were no longer audible. Somebody was lifting him up by his arm, his scar was searing again, and Harry felt himself getting dragged towards the tower, towards the entrance.

"N-no," he whispered, trying to wriggle out of the tight grip he was in. He struggled hard and viciously, but Voldemort didn't let go. They entered a cold, rotten hall. The putrid stench filled his nose and he was still blinded by fog.

"Do not resist," hissed the cold, high voice in his ears. Still trembling, Harry struggled even harder and fought hard to keep himself conscious; he couldn't pass out now, he had to escape… Voldemort forced him upstairs, pushing him hard against the steps.

"Take him to the others," commanded Voldemort to someone Harry couldn't see. He heard shrieks of laughter and felt two strong hands close around his arms. Someone was hoisting him up, pulling him to the first floor. He struggled again, and received a sharp blow on his cheek. He felt his legs getting pulled up. Two strong persons were holding him, bringing him up, floor to floor, until his legs got released; he slammed hard against the ground. The tight grip around his arms was gone as well; his head collided with the floor and for a moment, everything went black.

"HARRY!"

"Oh my god, Harry! No!"

He heard shouts and whimpers. Struggling to remain conscious, he raised his head and tried to find the source of the screaming.

"What have you done?" a familiar voice yelled.

"Silence!" screamed a high-pitched voice. Harry heard more yelling, a cry of pain and a muffled thud against something metal. Laughter echoed through the room.

"You have been deluded by Albus Dumbledore into thinking that this boy could be your last little scrape of hope," rang Voldemort's voice, drowning the laughter of the Death Eaters. "I brought him here, so that you can all witness the downfall of your foolish, little hero."

Something kicked Harry hard in his side. He muffled a yell, and rolled over to his stomach. Crouching on all fours, he tried to scramble to his feet. Swaying, he staggered towards the bars and fell back onto the ground. Something soft touched his head, caressing his hair. He leaned into the touch, but a sudden flash of light sent him through the air, away from the soft hands, and he hit something hard and solid. A blast of insults erupted through the air; their cries acting like a trigger: the crowd of prisoners took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse, confusing Harry, and he tried to block out the noise, which made his pounding head ache even worse.

"I said, _silence_!" cried Voldemort. He waved his wand; there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. "How dare you? How dare you defy Lord Voldemort? It is over! Do you understand now? You have been misguided into thinking that Harry Potter could ever be stronger than me. He is nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him, and I will make you all watch."

"You keep away from him!" Lupin shouted, breaking the silence. "You will never be as great as he is!"

"You can keep us here, in your so-called training program, punish us for our resistance, but we will never join you, and neither will Harry!" assented George. The crowd joined in with shouts of fury.

"Are you quite sure?" chuckled Voldemort softly, and the Death Eaters snickered; Bellatrix' screech rose above them all. "I already made Potter beg for mercy! Watch."

Voldemort turned to Harry. He grabbed him by his robes and swung him around. He was forced on his knees and felt Voldemort nails scrape against his skin as he ripped his already torn robes even further. Harry heard gasps of horror and anguish; the others must have seen the Dark Mark on his back. Terrified, he was frozen to the spot; he knew what was coming now…

"For your befouled retorts, your hero will pay the price. I think fifteen strokes should suffice… _Flagellum cruciate."_

Harry started to tremble. Automatically, he placed his fists on the ground and waited for the first strike. Voldemort's whip made contact with his skin; Harry bent his head and pressed his tongue against his teeth; he didn't want to scream. The second strike followed, and the third; it was getting much harder not to shout. In his agony, he heard the others yell again, some even begged for Voldemort to stop, much like he'd done. The room was ringing with the Death Eaters' laughter.

After the seventh blow, Harry couldn't hold it in anymore. All the screams he had held in, now burst out, drowning the shrieks of the Death Eaters. With the tenth strike, he felt tears in his eyes. Without being able to stop himself, he continued screaming. He wasn't able to get away, he wasn't able to stop shouting, but he refused to beg. He wasn't going to give Voldemort that satisfaction; determined to make his plan fail.

The thirteenth blow sent him to the ground; he didn't know where he was, whether he was standing or lying down, he didn't even know his own name. The world revolved in darkness and silence. Gone was the laughter of the Death Eaters, gone were the cracked voices of the Order, and gone was intense, white-hot burning in his back. He was drowning in an endless blackness, and sank deeper and deeper…

Voldemort stopped. His red eyes found the aghast expressions of the Order, who were standing nailed to the ground. It was a shame Harry hadn't begged this time, but it didn't matter… He would make him the next time… He turned his eyes to the darting Bellatrix and met hers, filled with relished glee. He gave her a small smile.

"My dear Bellatrix, would you be so kind to remove this piteous sight from our eyes?" said Voldemort, as his eyes rested on Harry, surveying the handiwork he'd inflicted on Harry's back. The dark outlines of the Mark were more visible than ever; it looked like he'd been poked long with an iron brand. The skin around the impregnated skulk was ripped open; blood trickled down into Harry's robes.

"Of course, master," she sounded delighted, sending a fleeting grin at the Order, who looked back at her with the most aversion they could manage. "Were shall I take him? The former cell of my dear old cousin?"

"No, take him back downstairs. I require his assistance in another demonstration shortly," replied Voldemort, strolling around the empty cells, before halting to another, opposite of the room. An eruption of rage sounded from across the room as Bellatrix kicked Harry hard on his side, which sent him towards the stairs. He rolled over to the steep stone step, hit it with a muffled thud and began to roll down fast. They heard him fall; the sounds of hitting each stone step after stone step bounced from the walls. And then the pounding noise stopped with a final crash, telling them Harry had reached the bottom step at last.

"Teachers of Hogwarts," Voldemort addressed the small group of Witches and Wizards, standing in the cell opposite of the Order. McGonagall looked sick to her stomach as she continued to eye the staircase on which Harry had been pushed down, all colors drained from her face, professor Flitwick gave a soft whimper and professor Sprout faced Voldemort rather haughty, all traces of her normally warm face gone.

"I do not wish to waste your talents, I do not wish for your knowledge to be lost…" he continued, ignoring the hostile faces. "Lord Voldemort respects the teachers of Hogwarts, yes… He values your skills, your abilities… And so, I shall give you a choice.

"Return with me to Hogwarts, were I shall allow you to continue teaching, were we can start to build towards a new purified future! Or you can choose to remain here, locked away, wasting precious competence… Consider your options wisely, this is an one-time offer…"

McGonagall glanced at professor Sprout, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and then turned her head to her other colleagues. They too nodded in silent agreement; there was no choice really… If they could help the children in any way, they must accept. McGonagall turned back to Voldemort and looked over his shoulder to Lupin, who gave her an encouraging tilt of his head.

"We accept," McGonagall said, and shifted her gaze to Voldemort.

"What will happen to them?" professor Sprout asked, and gestured to the cell opposite.

"They will follow the original plan," answered Voldemort lazily and waved his wand. The barred door burst open, allowing the prisoners to walk through. "Now, Dolohov shall escort you downstairs. Be warned, my dear professors, if you choose to escape, the boy will pay the price. I shall put him through pain beyond imagining, and I shall look for you myself and kill each and every one you hold dearly… Make no mistake."

He stepped in front of the row of shivering teachers and descended the stairs, without looking back at the remainder of the prisoners. He found Bellatrix at the end of the hallway, with Harry laying, still unconscious, at her feet. From behind, he heard footsteps emerge. Dolohov walked past them, followed by the professors, as he led them outside through the heavy, big doors. McGonagall halted when her eyes fell upon Harry, and without a second thought, she walked over to him.

"Potter," she murmured, crouching down to shake his arm softly, ignoring Bellatrix and Voldemort, who looked down at the two of them in disgust. Bellatrix snorted.

"As he does not seem to be fit to walk, you shall bring him back to Hogwarts," Voldemort told McGonagall. "You can manage him, he weights close to nothing."

Trembling, she closed her hands around Harry's arm and lifted him off the ground. Voldemort was right; she didn't have to use any amount of strength. Supporting him, by pulling his arm over her shoulder, she whirled into the air and felt another presence, Apparating side-along with them, until her feet found solid ground again, at the gates of Hogwarts.

Voldemort appeared shortly after her, keeping a close eye at the two of them. McGonagall now realized he'd used their connection; making sure they weren't able to escape. She started walking towards the castle, half carrying, half dragging Harry with her, whose limply body still felt as light as feathers. This wasn't good. What on earth had Voldemort done to him? She glanced to her side and found Harry's lulling head, covered in dried blood and fresh cuts. His glasses were gone, she noticed, and his robes were ready to fall apart any second.

She reached the Entrance Hall, where Dolohov had lined up the other teachers, handing them back their wands. She received her own, taking it with her remaining hand. Professor Sprout hurried over to help her lay Harry back onto the ground. McGonagall waved her wand over Harry; his robes glowered up, knitted themselves back together immediately and rested upon Harry's thin body, clean and free from dried up blood. But before she could mend the broken skin, she was blown backwards against the wall.

"Minerva!" shouted professor Sinistra and professor Flitwick together, as McGonagall collapsed on the floor. Professor Sprout crouched down beside her, but McGonagall already lifted her head, looking thoroughly angry at her attacker.

"I do not remember telling you to patch Harry up," whispered Voldemort softly, as he appeared from behind Dolohov, who kept his wand raised at the two women. "Consider this to be a warning. Now, enter the Great Hall. Snape shall inform you about the our policy here at Hogwarts."

They hesitated, all staring down at Harry, but before they could move, the doors of the Great Hall opened and two boys were thrown into the hall. They slammed against the floor hard, rolled over each other and laid still.

McGonagall gasped. She recognized the two boys immediately. "Is this the new policy you're talking about?" she shouted at Voldemort. He didn't answer; he looked down at Ron and Eddie without interest and turned towards Snape, who had emerged from the Great Hall.

"My Lord, Ackerly just sent word. He and Rowle found Slughorn, they're bringing him here," Snape said, without looking at the other teachers.

"Good," said Voldemort. "As you can see, your old colleagues gladly agreed to resume their teachings. You can walk them through the new changes around here. Send Ackerly to me when they arrive. I shall speak with Horace Slughorn in person."

"Of course, my lord."

Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it at Harry and gave a little flick. Harry stirred. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Are you ready for round two, Harry?"

"No," McGonagall spat, glaring at Voldemort with such intense hate, Harry had never seen from her before, not even with Umbridge. "You leave him alone."

Voldemort's ice-cold laugh rang through the hall. "Be careful. You do not want me to punish the boy for your rudeness, do you?"

He looked away from McGonagall and turned his eyes back at Harry, who was staring up at him with an absent look in his eyes. He had seen this look from his other victims before; they all showed this when they were close to giving up entirely. Maybe it was indeed time to leave Harry alone; to allow him to rest. The stress on his body was taking its toll: Another session would surely destroy him forever…

"However, you are right. The boy does not seem to be able to hold on any longer. I shall grant him a moment of rest. Amycus, Alecto, summon the other children. It's time for an early lunch and then some studying. It's it the beginning of a new term after all."

The Carrows, who had been standing in the doorway, grinned and bowed. Together, they stepped over Ron and Eddie and disappeared out of sight. At the same time, the doors to the hall opened, and four men stepped inside, dragging in a struggling older man.

"My, are you fat!" one of the four men spat, tugging the man by his arm. "Ackerly, help. I'm not going to be able to hold his weight."

But Ackerly had let go the moment he saw Voldemort, and bowed. "My lord, we've found Slughorn. He tried to hide himself as an armchair. He didn't come quietly, eventuelly Greyback backed us up mid duel," he said and pointed to the wolfish man behind Rowle. "We brought Rookwood alone as well."

"Thank you, Ackerly. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude. All of you," said Voldemort softly. He turned towards the balding, fat man, who stood frozen. "Horace Slughorn, my old teacher… Welcome."

The man didn't answer. His mustache was trembling with fear, his shiny pate gleamed with sweat, and his gooseberry colored eyes didn't dare to meet Voldemort's red ones. Instead, he looked down at Harry and gasped. Voldemort followed his stare and laughed.

"Ah yes, this is Harry Potter. As you can see, he is not the strong hero as you probably expected him to be. Ackerly, Rowle, escort our new guest to a comfortable room. I have much to discuss with him." Voldemort waited for Rowle, Ackerly and Slughorn to walk in front of him and then followed the three man through the hallway. The moment they were gone, McGonagall and Flitwick turned to Ron and Eddie and revived the two boys. They woke with a soft cry of pain. Harry lifted his head; some live was blown back into him when he witnessed Ron on the ground.

"Ron!" he gasped weakly. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Ron looked a little hazy for a moment. His eyes found Harry and he breathed hard. "Harry! You're alive! Blimey, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

"How very touching," Antonin Dolohov sneered, pointing his wand at Ron and Harry. At once, the professors whipped out their wands. Dolohov laughed. "Don't even think about it."

"Enough," said Snape slowly. "Dolohov, lower your wand. I need to have a word with them. Potter, Weasley, Carmichael, go the Great Hall. Wait for your classmates there."

His legs barely supported him, but somehow Harry managed to get up slowly. Swaying on his feet and with his head pounding, he offered his hand to Ron, to help him stand up as well. A mixture of sickness and relieve washed over Harry. _He was back at Hogwarts, he wasn't in Azkaban anymore… Ron was okay, he was alive. Voldemort had left them alone…_ Supporting each other, they staggered to the Great Hall. Harry let himself fall down at one of the tables and almost slumped back into darkness. It was due to Ron's questions he managed to stay awake.

"What happened to you, Harry, are you okay? We've been really worried, mate. You're bleeding everywhere. What happened?"

"Voldemort was a little angry with me," Harry answered. His fingers trailed over his back, worried that Ron would see the Mark, but he felt his robes whole again. Relieved, he put his hand back at the table. His movement was, however, not missed by Ron.

"What's wrong with your back?" he asked.

"Nothing," Harry lied quickly. "Just a little sore. I've fallen down a lot."

"Is that why you're covered in blood?"

"Yeah… I was hiding in the Room of Requirement and Voldemort found me there. He blasted the room apart… I got caught in the impact," answered Harry, avoiding any details. He looked at Ron: He too was covered in injuries. "What happened to you?"

"Er.. Snape and the Death Eaters were a little angry with me, too," Ron answered, with a faint smile which didn't reach his eyes. "They used the Cruciatus Curse on me and Carmichael."

"What! Why?"

"We didn't quit agree with the new arrangements…" said Ron, looking from Eddie, who sat at the table next to them, to Harry. "I'm fine now, though."

Harry got the message, Ron didn't want to talk about it. He changed the subject. "Listen, Ron, the Order is in Azkaban. I saw them there. They're alright for now, but the Death Eaters are there and the-" Harry swallowed – "the dementors are there too."

"How do you know?"

"I was there this morning. Voldemort wanted to show off that he's the boss of me," Harry answered grimly, "but Ron, we've got to help them."

"How do you want to do that? If you haven't noticed, we're kind of in a tight spot ourselves."

Harry didn't answer. Truth to be told, he didn't really feel like going back, being thankful to be back at Hogwarts. Why had Voldemort changed his mind? Didn't he want to torment him by locking him up with the dementors and the Death Eathers? Like he's doing to the Order… His heart throbbed painfully against his chest. The Order was still in danger. Would they be able to hold on long enough…? Would they be able to escape eventually…?

Harry placed his elbows on the table and let his head rest between his arms. He was so tired. His back was still aching and every movements reminded him of the Dark Mark. He wondered whether he would be able to cover it up forever… Surely, it must be more visible than ever right about now…

"Where's Hermoine? Ginny? Neville? Everyone?" said Harry sleepy, massaging his scar.

"We've been given new dormitories," growled Ron angrily. "We are to sleep in the Slytherin's nest now."

"What?" gasped Harry, raising his head out of his arms. "Are you joking?"

"No," answered Ron grimly. "The girls have been given the Hufflepuff's souterrain, though. Nice and comfy."

"They have divided us by gender?"

"Yeah. And by blood status. According to Snape, Muggleborns are screwed. Purebloods will get treated like royals. I know…" Ron said, looking at Harry's disgusted expression. He shrugged. "But what did you expect?"

The doors to the Great Hall opened. The students were walking back inside, all dressed in green and silver, looking either scared or distasteful. Even though they now shared the same dormitories, they still took place at their old table, according to their former houses. They started to notice Harry and froze at the sight of him. Harry knew they were impressed by his appearance, for he was still trembling a little, and underneath the dried up blood, covering his face and neck, the sickly paleness was clearly visible. Luckily for him, their attention was also turned upon Eddie and Ron, who looked equally sick and miserable. Just when Harry turned away from their gaze, somebody ran into the Great Hall.

"Ron! Ron, where are you? Are you okay?" sounded Hermoine's worrying voice. "Oh there you are – HARRY!"

She flung herself around him and Ron, grabbing them in such a tight embrace, it hurt. Her arm pressed hard in Harry's back and he couldn't hold it in.

"Aah – ow!"

Hermoine let go immediately. Even Ron seemed relieved. "I'm sorry!" she said hastily, blinking away the wetness in her eyes. "I was so worried with both of you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Hermoine, really. Good to see you too," answered Harry.

Ron nodded. "We're alive," he said and gave Hermoine a weak smile. "How are you? How is the Hufflepuff's basement?"

"Hannah was in tears," said Hermoine quietly and sat down next to them. "They've apparently changed everything in there. All green and silver. Nasty Pansy said it felt like her old common room, though she wasn't really glad. None of the Slytherin girls were. Well, none of us really."

"Of course not. You look awful in this uniform," said Ron, looking down at her robes. He was still wearing the Gryffindor colors, having not been able to change into new robes. Hermoine said something back, but Harry didn't hear. The voices of the other students were buzzing in his ears, making him feel dizzy and disorientated. He closed his eyes and slumped his head back onto his arms. Something was tucking on his robes. He wanted to raise his head, but it was too heavy.

"Harry, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah…" he moaned softly, "yeah, just a little tired…"

And then, everything went black.

* * *

 **Note:**

Hi guys, so sorry for being late with another post. I've tried to upload yesterday, but it didn't work (I don't know why)… I've rewritten this chapter a dozen times; couldn't get it right. I'm still not very satisfied though. I had a lot of ideas and directions, but couldn't fit them all together in this chapter. The ending is a little rushed, I wanted to upload before taking another week… Hopefully, you'll still like it.

Comments, criticism, advice, et cetera are always welcome!


	13. Chapter 13

Fire loomed up in the grate fireplace as Voldemort entered Snape's quarters. Behind him Ackerly and Rowle pushed the fat, balding man inside.

"Leave," ordered Voldemort, without looking at the three men. He heard shuffles of robes and a door click behind him. His hand waved casually through the air; Harry's cupboard door closed, two chairs moved closer to the fire.

"Sit." Voldemort turned around. His eyes found his old potion master and a smile appeared on his formless lips. He watched the man struggle to find his seat; his forehead was still glimmering. Voldemort didn't take the other chair; with his hands behind his back, he walked around Slughorn and stopped before the fire.

"Do you remember when I asked you about Horcruxes?"

Slughorn shifted in his chair. Voldemort turned around and stared in his face. "That was over fifty years ago… Ah, but you do remember, I can see it in your eyes. It is the very reason you stopped teaching at Hogwarts… And one of the reasons you have been hiding from me so vehemently. In vain, I might add."

Voldemort approached Slughorn, who pressed himself anxiously tighter into his chair for as far as his fat body would let him. "You need not to worry…" Voldemort continued, "Albus Dumbledore is dead."

"Dumbledore… dead?" Slughorn repeated. He had suspected as much, why else would Voldemort be able to stroll around Hogwarts, without getting caught? But to hear the words out loud… Slughorn shivered slightly.

"Yes… Killed by my hand," whispered Voldemort softly, his eyes gleaming maliciously in the light of the fire. He granted five minutes of silence for Slughorn to comprehend the news, in which he studied Slughorn's composure intently. Then, he continued. "You remember our conversation. I daresay you figured out that I indeed succeeded into making a Horcrux. Well, more than one actually…"

Slughorn looked up to him in awe. Voldemort glared back. Too distracted with the news, Slughorn didn't realize the giant snake gliding underneath his seat. When the scaly skin brushed his legs, Slughorn flinched and looked down. Gasping, he pulled his feet away. He kept staring at Nagini, who rose up next to Voldemort. He stroked her with one of his long, white fingers yet didn't turn his eyes to her; he kept glaring at Slughorn. His former teacher gulped and gazed back at him, his face whiter than ever; drops of sweat trickling down in neck.

"I wonder whether you know more than have let on all those years back," Voldemort continued. "Of course, you could not tell me everything you know, not with the threat of Dumbledore… However, you will do good to enlighten me now."

Slughorn gulped again, but didn't speak. His gooseberry colored eyes fixated them on the fireplace, unable to meet Voldemort's. His enormous silver mustache was still trembling.

"I have created six Horcruxes, Horace. No, seven to be exact. The last one was, however, a mistake."

"Please, do not tell me! I have never told anyone, even Dumbledore didn't- I won't tell anyone – please…" yelped Slughorn desperately. "Please, I –"

"You worry that your knowledge of my little secret will make me kill you?"

Slughorn's splutters quelled. He wiped his forehead and closed his eyes.

"I shall undoubtedly do so in the end… But not before you tell me everything you know. Who knows… Maybe if you please me enough, I will allow you to live."

At that, Slughorn raised his head.

"Yes…" whispered Voldemort, and stepped a little closer. "I do not wish to waste your knowledge, your talents… Lord Voldemort is merciful, he appreciates your valuableness… It would be such a loss…"

Mesmerized, Slughorn continued to gaze at Voldemort.

"You would do anything to survive, would you not? Then listen closely… I have created an accidental Horcrux. The object in which my soul is concealed needs to be destroyed. I need to know how to transfer the piece of soul before doing so."

"I do not, I am not sure, please…" whispered Slughorn desperately again. "I do not know the details of Horcruxes! Please…"

Voldemort's hungry glare faltered slightly. It was foolish to hope that his old teacher would know… He himself hadn't been able to find out, even after nights of studying, after many efforts… He would simply have to find out on his own, like he had to do with so many aspects of darker magic already. Voldemort turned away from Slughorn and resumed his staring into the fire.

"Disappointing…" he said, after fifteen minutes of thoughtful gazing, "I confess myself disappointed." He stroked Nagini absentmindedly, and ignored Slughorn's desperate whispers of pleas.

"Please, please… I never dreamed of… please, have mercy…"

Voldemort tilted his head. "Mercy? Oh, my dear Horace, what have you given me in exchange for my mercy?" His expression was unreadable, but his aura waved radiations of anger. "However, as I said before, I consider it a loss if I were to kill you…"

Voldemort stepped away from the fire and fingered his wand. "You want mercy, you say? Then, I have a little proposal for you… With Snape as Headmaster, the Potions post is open… I want you to resume your teachings." He stopped to watch Slughorn's flicker of hope. "However, I cannot allow you to wander around with the knowledge of my Horcruxes, now can I?"

Voldemort raised his wand. Slughorn eyed it, his mustache quivering heavier than ever.

"You will forget our conversation. You will forget that you ever knew the existence of my Horcruxes. I shall erase all the memories you have concerning this topic. You will be able to teach the children the noble art of Potions, free of the burden of carrying my secrets…"

Slughorn looked horror-struck.

"If you do not accept, I see no other alternative than to kill you…" whispered Voldemort and raised his wand a little higher.

"No!" yelped Slughorn. "No, I accept, I accept!"

"Very good," said Voldemort, his eyes glinting with approval. "Wise choice, Slughorn. And now… _Obliviate!"_

* * *

"These are a few examples of the new changes," ended Snape his speech to his colleagues. "The students have been called for lunch. You will pick up your teachings after and then meet me in the teachers' lounge after diner. There's more to discuss…"

"How dare you," whispered McGonagall venomously. Behind her, the others nodded ferociously. "Dumbledore has always ensured us we could trust you… How could you betray him?"

Snape's expression was blank, unreadable. Pretending not to have heard her, he proceeded. "You will do well to stick to the new rules… Think of the students. It is the only way." He ended his last sentence somewhat pleadingly. Without facing his colleagues, he turned on the spot and swept of out the Entrance Hall into the Great Hall.

"We can't possibly," Professor Flitwick squeaked, watching the swishing cloak of Snape disappear behind the door. "We must do something."

"We must think of the children," said Professor McGonagall curtly. She too stared at the door. "I think it's best to comply for the time being."

"But, Minerva! We cannot just pretend everything's fine. You cannot possibly agree–"

But Professor Sprout shared the same look Professor McGonagall did. "Maybe Snape is not acting entirely on his own accord, Filius," she said thoughtfully. "As foul as he may seem, it is probably his way of looking out for the children too."

"Thank you, Pomona," said Professor McGonagall, and between the two witches there passed a look of grim understanding.

"But he – he was the one who killed –"

"I know," Professor McGonagall sighed. "Filius, the situation couldn't get more grievous, and this goes without saying, we must not trust Snape, yet we cannot afford to fight right now. We ought to consider the children, guide them the best way we can."

"Come," Professor Sprout finally said. "Let's follow him inside. The students are coming."

She hadn't even finished her sentence when a handful of students emerged from the stairs around the corner. They gaped at their teachers and the Professors looked back, aghast, watching them all in their Slytherin uniforms.

"Oh my," breathed Professor Flitwick.

"We knew about this," said Professor McGonagall sorrowfully, but she too found it hard to see her Gryffindor-students walking around in silver and green.

"You're back!" It was Luna. She crossed over to her old Head of House. "Are you alright?"

"Thank you, miss Lovegood, but don't you mind us. How are you?"

"It is rather horrible, isn't it?" she said dreamingly. "Have you come back to teach again?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, eyeing all her former students. Gradually, more people crossed the Hall, but froze upon the sight of their teachers.

"You're back!"

"You're unharmed!"

Some applauded, others were gazing hopefully. The rest of them, however, still looked quite depressed. Even with their teachers back, there was no hope into fighting their way out of this.

"Quiet!" raved the Carrow siblings, who pushed their ways to the crowd of students. "Go inside! Now."

McGonagall stiffened when Alecto Carrow kicked a student in the shins. He fell down with a howl and grabbed his legs.

"Move!" Amycus assisted his sister, and kicked the boy in his back.

"That's quite enough," said Professor McGonagall angrily and pushed the Carrows out of the way. She extended her hand to the boy and he jerked himself up, rubbing his painful shins.

"Who do you think you are?" cried Alecto, but McGonagall merely glared sternly at her over her square shaped glasses.

"Come on," Professor Flitwick squeaked, turning his attention to the watching students. "In you go."

McGonagall paid one last haughty look, and followed the students inside. She looked around, expecting to find a grim dungeon-like dining hall, but everything was the same as usual. The Enchanted Ceiling was the same, the four long tables were standing in the midst of the Hall and her old spot at the teachers table was still in place. She walked over to the platform. Snape was already standing there. He avoided her eyes and looked at the students, who were all taking a seat at their old House-table. McGonagall sat down. The other teachers followed her example.

"As you can see, your teachers returned to Hogwarts," Snape began. "After lunch, you are all to continue business as usual. New schedules will be handed out while you eat."

Snape paused. The doors behind the Staff's table opened and the students looked at a fat, balding man, wobbling inside. He skulked to a nearest seat and smiled awkwardly to the staring students.

"I want to introduce Horace Slughorn, your new Potions Professor," Snape resumed his speech. "He has kindly agreed to resume his old post as Potion master."

Snape gestured to Slughorn, who stood up from the table and paid a subtle bow to the students. A few clapped, the rest remained silent.

"He is not the only new teacher. You know Amycus and Alecto Carrow," continued Snape, waving his hand to the patrolling Death Eaters. "I'm happy to announce that Amycus Carrow will take up the Dark Art's post."

The students silently whispered with each other. Dark Arts? Had it not been always _Defense against_ the Dark Arts? Snape voice now rose above them. "And because professor Burbage has – er – resigned, the post for Muggle Studies will be occupied by Alecto Carrow. The subject is, from now on, mandatory for everyone.

"Furthermore, I present your new Prefects and Headboy- and girl," said Snape lazily, ignoring the indignant faces of the students who were appointed during the summer. Hermoine and Ron looked at each other; they were amongst the firstly picked students.

"Foul git," whispered Ron quietly. He was supporting Harry against his shoulder, making it look like Harry wasn't asleep. Their attempts to wake Harry had been fruitless, so they had settled with setting him up against Ron. They didn't dare to get up and take him to the infirmary, not while Snape was speaking. It would not do good to draw attention to themselves. They simply had to wait until he was finished.

A handful of true Slytherins were called to the teachers' stage. They each received new badges. The Carrows were busy instructing everyone to applaud.

"Do you think it's safe to leave now?" Hermoine asked, fifteen minutes later, over her plate of dry-looking toast. She looked over Ron's head and pushed a stack of toast in her back.

"Dunno," answered Ron, who handed her some butter from under the table. They had agreed to smuggle out some food for Harry later.

"Are you sixth years?" asked a bored-looking girl to Ron. He jumped and quickly grabbed Harry's arm, to prevent him from falling over. He glanced to her shiny Prefect-badge and gave her an indignant frown.

"Yeah. So?"

The girl huffed. "Manners, red roof devil. I've got schedules for sixth years here." She handed over three with sheets. Hermoine took them. The Prefect-girl pulled her hand away and gave Hermoine a contemptuous glare. She then stalked away.

"We have got Transfiguration after lunch," Hermoine said, while scanning over their new schedules. "Apparently, we are not allowed to choose our own classes. I thought, after our O.W.L.'s…"

"Who cares about classes right now?" asked Ron sharply. "Hermoine, we've got to bring Harry to bed."

Hermoine turned slightly pink. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I think we better do it now." She waited until Ron was finally standing. He had pulled Harry's arm around his neck. Together, they dragged Harry out of the Great Hall, doing their best to draw as less attention as possible.

* * *

"He said that You-Know-Who took him to Azkaban this morning."

"Oh dear… No wonder he is so worn out."

"Yeah. Maybe we should give him some chocolate?"

Harry listened to the voices as though they were coming from a badly tuned radio. His head felt heavy and he was unable to lift his eyelids. Slowly, he recognized Ron's voice.

"Look! He's waking up."

"Harry?"

Groaning softly, Harry lifted himself from his pillow and opened his eyes. He automatically reached for the night stand, to find his glasses, before realizing he didn't need them anymore. He looked around and his eyes found Hermoine, who was sitting beside him.

"What-? Where am I?"

"You're at the hospital wing, mate," answered Ron, who was standing next to the bed, looking somewhat relieved.

"Here," Hermoine said, swishing her wand through the air, conjuring a new pair of glasses. She caught them midair and offered it to Harry. "I don't know where yours are."

"Thanks, Hermoine, but I don't need them anymore," said Harry, but took them anyway. Upon meeting her puzzled look, he explained. "Voldemort restored my vision. I know, weird right?"

Hermoine nodded. "Strange indeed. It is very hard to restore someone's vision, that's why nobody really bothers… So why would Voldemort? What spell did he use?" added Hermoine eagerly.

"Dunno," answered Harry, trying to recall the day it had happened. His head was pounding. "There was a bunch of Latin."

"But do you know why he did that?" pressed Hermoine on.

"Give it a rest, okay, Hermoine?" said Ron sharply. Harry was grateful. Fresh images of the fireplace in Voldemort's manor, with the two armchairs and the sofa, his bedroom with the snakelike bars, Voldemort's wand with the vaporish whip, and Voldemort himself, towering over him as he got tortured, flickered through his mind.

He focused his gaze on the bed. The Hospital Wing could be described as his third bedroom, apart from his bed in the Gryffindor tower and his small bedroom back at the Dursleys. How many nights he had spent here already…

"We have cleaned you up a bit," Hermoine said slowly, watching Harry apprehensively. "You were covered in blood. Madame Pomfrey's isn't here. She is taking care of Hagrid."

Harry's stomach turned. "What? Where's Hagrid? What happened to him?"

"He is fine," said Hermoine hastily, pushing Harry carefully back in his pillows. "He got hit with a lot of curses, so naturally he is not feeling so well. Pomfrey said he's going to be fine, though."

"Yeah, it's probably his tick, half-giant skin, you know. So he will survive," nodded Ron. "If you are feeling up to it, we were planning on visiting him tonight."

"Where is he?"

"In his cabin," answered Hermoine. She pushed Harry back at his pillows again. "We can't go now. And you still look a little drowsy, Harry."

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Nearly an hour," Ron answered, taking a seat next to Hermoine on his bed. "You blacked out in the Great Hall. McGonagall convinced Snape to let us bring you here. At first, he wanted to do it himself, the greasy git. He wanted us to go to our lessons."

"There are lessons? Now?"

"Yeah. We are supposed to go the Transfiguration now, but McGonagall insisted we bring you here instead. It's good she's back, isn't it?"

"Yeah… Who does Snape think he is? Bossing everyone around like that?" As he said it, a sharp pain shot through his scar. It didn't diminish; clutching his hand against his forehead, he felt the pain building up.

"He is headmaster now, so he – what's up Harry?" asked Ron a little warily. He looked frightened to Harry, who was now closing his eyes, pressing harder onto his head with both hands.

"Scar," he muttered, and heard Hermoine gasp and sensed both Ron and Hermoine jumping off his bed. Harry opened his eyes. Voldemort was walking lazily through the room. Behind him three Death Eaters followed.

"Leave him alone!" said Ron, who started to look green in the face, but defiant nevertheless. His hand found Hermoine's and he pulled her behind him.

Voldemort looked down at Ron and Hermoine. His eyes followed Ron's movement. Slowly, his mouth curled up in a malicious smile. "You have nerve, my brave boy. A former Gryffindor, I take it? Friend of Harry's? Ah yes, how _lovely_ , protecting the ones you care about."

"Leave them alone." Harry pushed himself up by his elbows and stared at Voldemort. Red eyes found Harry and he smiled when the boy backed away in his pillows as he advanced on him.

"I suspected I could find you here, Harry," he said, stepping closer, until he stood before Harry's bed. "Now that you have rested, I want you to tell me the secret you are keeping."

"I won't," replied Harry, braver than he felt.

Voldemort's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile "We can do this the hard way, if you insist." His eyes reached up and he addressed the nearest Death Eater. "Take the girl."

The man gave a little smile and stalked his way over to Hermoine. She backend away and Ron lunged forward, tackling the Death Eater to the ground. He thrusted his elbow in the man's face and he yelped out in pain. His partner quickly whipped out his wand. In his movement, his mask fell off and Harry recognized Avery, the man who had been under Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse back at the graveyard, two years previously.

"No!" Harry yelled. He jumped of the bed, but before he could attack Avery, he was hauled back by his arm. His scar seared with pain and he didn't have to look up to know who held him.

"Let go," he growled, tucking his arm away from Voldemort's tight grip. There was a loud bang and Ron flew through the air; smashed into the opposite wall and slumped to the ground. He didn't move.

"No!" squeaked Hermoine, ducking under Avery's mowing arms. She ran towards Ron, stooped down to his lifeless body and whimpered. "No, no, Ron..."

Harry struggled again. His face directed to Hermoine and Ron, he grasped Voldemort's wrist, and tried to loosen the grip on his arm. His head was about to burst with the pain from his scar and Harry struggled with more force, until–

"Enough!" hissed Voldemort. His face showed a mask of anger, his red eyes flashed dangerously across the room. "Enough! How dare you embarrass me with your incompetence of restraining a couple of children? Shall I show you how it is done?"

He backhanded Harry hard across the face. Dazed with the impact, Harry's grip of Voldemort's wrist loosened and Voldemort slammed him into the bed. With his other hand, he pointed his wand at Hermoine. A flash of purple light filled the Hospital Wing and with a shriek, Hermoine fell beside Ron, eyes closed and her mouth half-open.

"No!" moaned Harry. He grasped the sheets of the bed and tried to get up, but Voldemort stamped his foot down to Harry's stomach. An immediate wave of nausea spread through his body, reached his throat and with great effort Harry held back the urge to vomit.

Voldemort withdrew his foot and slowly crouched down, so that his face leveled Harry's. "You. Meddlesome. Foolish. Impertinent. Brat." He hissed each word with increased resentment and grabbed the front of Harry's robes.

"I ought to kill your little friends. The next time you dare to intervene, I shall, Harry. I shall kill everyone in the room with you and I will make you watch their most painful deaths." He now spoke calmly; collected, but the sound of his voice revealed the anger hidden within. The red eyes flashed a confirmation of rage. "However, right now, I need them to make you speak, don't I?"

Harry, who had closed his eyes to the piercing pain in his scar, opened them quickly and shot Voldemort a look of intense hate. "You will not touch my friends. You won't – Aah!"

Voldemort got up and hoisted Harry along with him. He slammed Harry against the wall, grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair, while pressing his wand to Harry's throat with his remaining hand.

" _I have had it with your undying defiance,"_ hissed Voldemort in Parseltongue, and shook Harry's hair so vigorously, that he moaned with pain.

" _Let… Go…"_

The Death Eaters didn't laugh; they stared at Voldemort and Harry, who were hissing at each other in a language they didn't understand, glad to not be at the receiving end of Voldemort's fury.

" _No. I will not let you go. How dare you challenge me?"_ He bashed Harry's head to the wall. " _How dare you to continue your disobedience, even after the many punishments I have put you through?"_

Without able to stop himself, Harry started to tremble. Starts were dancing for his eyes and when he blinked, Voldemort's face slid in and out of focus. _"I didn't ask for you! You killed my parents, you killed so many others, you force your will onto everyone. Do you just expect me to accept quietly?"_

Voldemort chuckled softly. He relaxed the grip in Harry's hair a little and lowered his wand. _"You are a child, Harry Potter and children need to accept the will of their superiors."_

This time, Harry didn't retort. He didn't feel like adding another blow to his already pounding head.

" _I am going to teach you a little lesson, Harry. A lesson in which you will never think of defying me again,"_ Voldemort hissed, relinquishing Harry's hair. He watched the boy sank to the ground, before wheeling around to the Death Eaters. He beckoned Avery over. "Take him bellow. I shall attend momentarily."

Avery pulled Harry roughly from the ground and steered him to the exit. When Harry tried to take a glimpse at Ron and Hermoine, Avery pushed his head down and shoved him towards the stairs. The low grunt of Ron told Harry that his friends were also getting dragged out of the room.

A sudden panic took over him, as he stumbled down the stairs, with Avery in his wake. What lesson was Voldemort going to teach him? Did it involve Hermoine and Ron? Why had he been so stupid to endanger his friends? Avery led him to the dungeons, past Snape's quarters and past the entrance of Slytherin's dormitory. Harry had never been to this side of the castle before, he didn't even know this part existed… _This must be dungeon Filch always bragged about,_ Harry assumed and watched as Avery opened the door. The Death Eater jabbed him in the back and without even thinking about disobeying, Harry stepped inside.

There was a split second in which Harry considered running back out. His insides plummeted the moment his eyes fell upon glimmering, polished shackles, hanging from the ceiling and the cabinet full of what looked like whips. He heard Ron's growl bounce from the wall of the staircase, and watched as Ron got shoved inside as well.

"What should we do with them?" Ackerly asked, holding a struggling Ron by his neck, while Rowle dropped an unconscious Hermoine onto the floor.

"I reckon we better tie them up," Avery answered and gestured to the hanging shackles.

"Like hell you will," Ron shouted and wrestled himself out of Ackerly's grasp. He crossed the room towards Hermoine, while pulling out his wand; directing it to Avery. The laughter of the Death Eaters echoed through the cell. But Ron stood his ground: " _Expelliarmus!"_ he yelled. Avery hit the wall next to the door and sagged down; his wand flew out of his hand and disappeared out of sight. Ron didn't stop to watch; he turned his wand towards Ackerly, which such speed, the man was unable to raise his own wand. _"Stupefy!"_

"You little –" but Rowle didn't get to finish his sentence; Harry took a dive and trashed himself into the Death Eater. They rolled over the floor.

"Get his wand!" Ron yelled, and Harry thrust his elbow in Rowle's face; reaching for the wand with his other hand. Rowle was too strong; he didn't let go. Red sparks emerged from the tip as Harry and Rowle wrestled together, tugging on each side of the mahogany stick, until a loud SNAP bounced off the walls.

"You broke my wand! You filthy piece of –!"

Ron dashed over, pointed his wand at Rowle's face and bellowed: " _Stupefy!"_ The man remained motionless on the floor and Harry rolled off; scrambling to his feet while holding a little piece of wood in his hand. He looked at Ron, who grinned back at him. Harry couldn't help it; he sniggered a little nervously, too.

"Nice one," he said and threw the piece of broken wand back to the ground. "Come on, we should hurry, before Voldemort gets here."

"Yeah," said Ron, and gently lifted Hermoine off the ground. "You take their wands. I'll get Hermoine."

Harry grabbed Ackerly's wand and wheeled around to look for the other. It was too dark. Harry swept his hand over the cold stones, but couldn't find Avery's wand.

"I can't find the other one."

"Leave it then! Go on, you first."

Just when Harry reached the upper step, his scar burned white-hot. At the same time, he heard Ron yelping with pain. Before he could look back, somebody grabbed him roughly by his ankle and Harry doubled over; his chin hit the stone step and he tasted blood. He slid down the stairs, hitting each step after step with his already injured chin.

"Making a brake for it?" Avery hissed in his ear and before Harry could react, an ice-cold, metal shackle clicked around his wrist. Avery pulled the chain and Harry was forced to walk along, until his back hit the stone wall. With a burst of flames, the torches got lit and Harry squinted his eyes to the sudden light. A figure in black, silky robes descended the stairs and Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"And what do we have here?" a high-pitched voice whispered dangerously.

"They tried to escape, my lord," Avery's hoarse sounded through the cellar.

"Did they now?" said Voldemort smoothly and looked from Ron, who was sitting against the wall; wiping blood from his eyes, with Hermoine at his feet, to Harry. "And you did not think to take this boy's wand, did you?"

Voldemort's eyes didn't leave Harry. He watched the boy, standing quite unable to move, and laughed softly when he witnessed the fear in creeping into the green eyes.

"Revive Ackerly and Rowle, and chain those two over there," ordered Voldemort, while waving at Ron and Hermoine.

"Yes, my lord," mumbled Avery and turned towards the motionless Ackerly.

Voldemort approached Harry and held out his hand. Harry looked at it puzzlingly, wondering whether Voldemort was going to slap him again.

"I require the wand you're holding, Harry," explained Voldemort softly. "Hand it over."

Harry looked down at his other hand, his unshackled one; his fingers were clenched around the wand as though it was a safeguard. He could turn it to Voldemort, he could use it to cast a Disarming or a Stunning Spell… But what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when it would only anger him even further? He was still tied to the wall by chains, with no help to be had. And so reluctantly and shakenly, Harry lifted the wand for Voldemort to take.

"Very good, Harry," said Voldemort. He threw the wand to the revived Ackerly, without looking at him, and stepped a little closer to where Harry was standing. His hand found the other shackle and he held his other hand again

"Give me your arm."

This time, Harry did not obey; he was not going to willingly let himself get imprisoned. He stared into Voldemort's red eyes and ignored the whirling inside his stomach when Voldemort drew a little nearer; towering over Harry, leering down at him.

"I said, _give me your arm,"_ he hissed, more dangerously now, and grabbed Harry's wrist. He slapped the shackle around it and turned towards Avery. "Pull him up."

Harry's arms got lifted up by the shackles when Avery turned the wheel on which the cord was chained. Avery stopped the moment Harry's eyes leveled with Voldemort's. His feet dangled one and a half foot from the ground. A burning pressure set in his shoulders, cramping his neck, and the metal shackles cut his wrists. Harry grasped the chain around the shackles tightly, to help lighten the pressure of his wrists, and he restrained himself from gasping, blinking away the tears in his eyes. He heard Ron's grunts when he received the same treatment.

Harry's mind raced through the memories of his summer. How Death Eaters had come to take him downstairs, how Voldemort had taunted him over diner. How Voldemort had forced him to call him 'my lord' and had punished him when he refused to do so. He remembered each night vividly now, where he was taken back to the bedroom by Voldemort. Where he had to endure endless nights of agony, endless pain and suffering. And now Ron and Hermoine were going to face the same fate. This could not be happening…

"And now," Voldemort said slowly, while tilting his head, studying Harry's face. "My dear Death Eaters will show you the consequences of your foolishness… Start."

Harry's eyes widened; turning away from Voldemort, he looked at Avery and Ackerly, who both raised their wands and cried: _"Crucio!"_

Ron let out a pierced, agonizing scream. It shilled down Harry's spine and cut through his chest like physical pain. Ron convulsed in his chains, banging his body against the wall and continued screaming. Harry looked away and met Voldemort's sickening smile.

"Stop! Stop!" Harry yelled, struggling against his own bonds. "You win! I will tell you everything! You have won! Now, stop!"

"Say please, Harry."

"Please!" Harry shrilled desperately. "Please, you win! I will tell you everything. Just stop! _Please."_

"Call me master."

Horrified, Harry looked into those bright red eyes. Ron's screaming increased.

"Fine! Fine, have it your way. Please stop, m-m…"

"I am waiting, Harry…" chuckled Voldemort softly. "If you want your friend's suffering to end, then you know what you have to do."

Harry closed his eyes and pushed the words out of his throat. "Please, master, stop!"

"Very good," said Voldemort lazily. He raised his hand to Avery and Ackerly, without taking his eyes of Harry. Ron's screaming stopped. Harry opened his eyes and turned to watch Ron, who was panting heavily, hanging limp in the chains, binding him to the wall.

"You are mine, Harry. Remember that. You are mine to control… Mine to force my will upon," he turned his snakelike face back to the two Death Eaters. "Again."

"What?" Harry yelled as Ron's screaming resumed to fill the whole room.

"You see how hopeless you are? Nothing will come and rescue you, Harry. Nobody will risk their neck for you anymore," cried Voldemort, drowning Harry's yells of rage and Ron's screaming of agony. "You are now handed to my mercy and you will do well to act on it! Rowle, why are you not participating?"

Voldemort raised his hand again, and Ron's screaming died out. Rowle moved uncomfortably and presented his snapped wand. Voldemort looked at it.

"It was Potter, my lord," he spluttered. "He broke my wand."

Voldemort swiftly crossed the room and halted before the Death Eater. "Leave," he hissed. "If you are not fit to handle a teenager, then I have no use for you anymore. You deserve to get your wand broken, do you not, Rowle?"

Rowle backed away, unable to meet Voldemort's eyes. "Yes, m-my lord."

"Then you understand that a suitable punishment for you is to remain wandless. Now get out of my sight."

Rowle did not need telling twice; he wheeled around and sprinted up the stairs. Voldemort turned his gaze at the two remaining Death Eaters. They took an involuntary step back, watching Voldemort's face contorted with anger.

"Revive the girl, Ackerly, and make her feel the wrath of Lord Voldemort."

"No," moaned Ron weakly, raising himself up in his chains. "No, don't touch her."

"Silence," Voldemort hissed. "Avery, you take this boy. He is undoubtedly in need of learning his place…"

"Hermoine didn't do anything," Harry protested, as Voldemort approached him. "It was all me. Just take me alone."

"Then this will be a suitable punishment for you too, will it not?" said Voldemort softly. From a little distance, Harry heard Hermoine moan.

"No, please. It was all me. Don't hurt them."

Voldemort nodded to Ackerly and Avery, and they raised their wands. "NO! Please!" Harry screamed, but his voice got drowned by the high-pitched yells of now both Ron and Hermoine. They trashed against their bonds; bouncing into each other. Hermoine let out a cry, tears streaming across her cheeks. Ron kicked into the air.

Harry wrestled his own shackles and continued to beg. "Stop! Just stop. Take me instead. Please."

"You take after your dear Mudblood mother, Harry," said Voldemort slowly. "She too begged me to spare you. She begged me for mercy. Much like you do now…"

Voldemort chuckled softly. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Harry and gave his terrible smile. " _Crucio!"_

Somehow, with Ron's and Hermoine's screaming in his ears, the pain was worse than ever. Yet the physical stress wasn't enough to overcome his mental agony; Hermoine reached a high-pitched shriek, with got drowned by Ron's roars. Harry wasn't aware of screaming himself; joining in with Ron's desperate howls of threats. Just when Harry thought he could not take it any longer, the pain stopped. Hermoine and Ron stopped shouting too. The three of them panted heavily, while hanging limply in their shackles. Through half-closed eyes, Harry looked up to the blurry outlines of Voldemort. Scarlet eyes stared hungrily back. Harry blocked them out by shutting his eyes tight; his scar burned past endurance. He wanted to pass out… to die…

Harry felt something cold touch his cheek; and thought his head would burst with the pain of it. Voldemort was stroking his face, and titled his chin, so that Harry was forced to face him again.

"Remember this, Harry. The next time I will not be so lenient anymore. The next time I shall bring you down here again, and I shall torture your friends near insanity, and I shall keep going until you learn your place. Am I understood?"

"Y-yes," whispered Harry hoarsely.

"Good," Voldemort smiled and withdrew his finger from Harry's chin. "And now… You will tell me where you hid the house-elf, won't you?"

Harry looked away and glanced at Ron, who was hanging next to him, still panting, with his eyes closed. Hermoine wasn't visible, but he heard her wheeze. This was his fault. He had put his friends in danger, he had put Ron and Hermoine in this torment, and the only way out was to obey Voldemort…

"I told Kreacher to – " Harry started, but got interrupted by Voldemort's finger.

" _Tell me in Parseltongue, Harry. The others do not need to know."_

Harry looked to Voldemort's snakelike face. It wasn't hard to imagine him as a real serpent. Harry took a deep breath and continued. " _I told Kreacher to hide himself after retrieving your locket. I didn't specify where he should hide himself… So, I don't know really."_

" _But surely, you are able to summon him, are you not?"_

Harry gulped. There was no way out of this. Not without hurting his friends. _"Yeah, I suppose so. But he doesn't have your locket… Not yet anyway,"_ Harry tried.

" _Yes, I know. Somebody stole it from him. But you told him to get it back, did you not? So, we must simply wait for him to succeed… In the meantime, tell me to what house the elf is bound to."_

" _I-I can't,"_ Harry answered desperately. " _Please. I cannot tell you, I'm not Secret-Keeper."_

" _Secret-Keeper to what?"_

Harry hesitated. Voldemort's glare increased. _"Secret-Keeper to what? Answer me!"_ Voldemort turned to the two Death Eaters.

" _Wait!"_

Voldemort held up his hand. Immediately, Ron and Hermoine started to scream. Struggling frantically against his bonds, Harry shouted: " _Wait! Stop! Alright, alright… To the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."_

Harry bit his tongue. The moment he said it, he knew he had made a huge mistake. His mind was clouded with the threat of Ron and Hermoine's well-being, leaving him unable to think straight. Why couldn't he have said 'Sirius' home'? Why had he blurted out the headquarters? Voldemort turned back at Harry, his eyes flashed with hunger. _"Who is Secret-Keeper then?"_

" _Dumbledore was! Dumbledore was Secret-Keeper. Please, let them go!"_ yelled Harry. He watched in horror as Voldemort tilted his head into his neck and laughed his high-pitched, terrible laugh. He then raised his hand again, ordering the Death Eaters to stop.

" _But Dumbledore told you the location, did he not? And now that he is dead… You are able to tell me where it is."_

" _He didn't,"_ lied Harry quickly, amazed with Voldemort's scarce knowledge. Surely, Snape must have told him already? Surely, he must have had already some idea? Maybe even through the Malfoys, when Kreacher had come to visit them? Could he pretend to have never set foot in Grimmauld Place? Could he save his blunder by lying now?

Voldemort chuckled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. _"Do not lie to me, Harry. I know for a fact that the House-elf is bound to the House of Black. Are you telling me that your dear deceased blood-traitorous Godfather used his house for the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?"_

Harry felt as though a bucket of ice cascaded in his stomach. How could he be so stupid? Voldemort had not known about Grimmauld Place being the Order's Headquarters and now Harry had told him just that. Of course, the Malfoys had not known… Kreacher was bound to secrecy; he probably had only been able to tell them about Sirius.

" _Answer me, Harry. Is Black's house the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?"_

Harry breathed hard. He was an idiot. A good for nothing, stupid idiot… " _Yes,"_ he answered reluctantly, before Voldemort could order Ackerly and Avery to continue the Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort laughed again. _"Well, well… See what a little persuasion can do, Harry? Do you understand now what defiance and open emotions can bring you? In the end, you are as weak as the others, you foolish boy… There is nothing you can hide from me! Lord Voldemort!_

" _But you have satisfied me, Harry. Well done. And now, if you want your friends and yourself to get out of these chains, you tell me the exact location of the Order of the Phoenix…"_

" _But I can't_ ," tried Harry, a desperate attempt to clean up the mess.

" _Yes, you can. With Dumbledore dead, you are able to reveal its location."_ Voldemort stepped a little closer. " _And you will. But first, you will summon Kreacher for me. Let's hope for your sake he succeeded into finding my locket. Summon him. Now!"_

"Fine. Kreacher!"

With the sound of a cracking whip, Kreacher appeared. His many folds of skin wiggled when he wheeled around to face Harry.

"Do you have my locket?" Voldemort asked, and Kreacher turned his attention to him. His flappy ears hanged and Kreacher shook his head. Harry moaned. His scar seared with fresh pain and he felt a boiling of anger somewhere in his stomach, which was quite unconnected with his own fear.

"Who has it?" Voldemort asked, jeering down at Kreacher. The house-elf faced the ground.

"Mundungus Fletcher," answered Kreacher quietly, with his raspy voice. Voldemort let out a shriek of rage and turned his attention to the two puzzled Death Eaters.

"Find me this Mundungus Fletcher. Bring him to me!"

Ackerly and Avery stiffened a bow and turned around towards the stairs. Voldemort grabbed Kreacher by the hem of his filthy rags, lifting him up. "You will continue to search for Mundungus Fletcher. Bring him to me when you find him." Voldemort threw Kreacher back at the ground.

"You have been helpful, Harry, and Lord Voldemort awards his helpers. You are allowed to rest now." And with that, Voldemort turned around and disappeared out of sight.

Harry waited until he no longer heard footsteps. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

Ron grunted. "Fine. Fine, I will live. Hermoine, are you okay?"

Hermoine did not speak. She let out a soft whimper, to answer Ron.

"I'm sorry," said Harry again, shifting his arms to help relieve the pressure on his shoulders. His neck was aching past endurance and the cramp radiated through his back. His eyes found Kreacher. "Will you get us down please, Kreacher?"

Kreacher pulled the wheel and the trio fell down to the floor. With a snap of Kreacher's fingers, their shackles popped open. Harry kneaded his bloody wrists. Ron dragged himself to his feet and gently helped Hermoine to get up. They picked up their wands, which had been thrown away by the Death Eaters.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said. Something soft brushed against his arm and he felt a light tug. Hermoine sat beside him and supported his arm; Ron took his other arm. Together, they pulled Harry up. Hermione gave a weak smile; her eyes were red, swollen, and her bushy hair was tangled. She put her arms around him. Harry returned her hug. Ron broke in and the three off them held each other tight. Immense relieve washed over Harry. He could not express how much it meant to him that they were hugging him, still accepting him, that they tried to comfort him even though they had experienced a great ordeal themselves.

After a few minutes, they broke apart. Ron was stroking Hermoine's back and she leaned into him, sobbing silently. Harry turned his head away and looked at Kreacher.

"I didn't want to endanger you, Kreacher. You better just go and find that stupid locket."

But Kreacher gave Harry a little smile. His great, bloodshot eyes popped with a wicked glance. "Kreacher lied. Master told Kreacher to hide the locket and Kreacher obeyed."

"What?" gasped Harry. "You lied… You have…? How?"

"Kreacher found the thief. He was trying to sell the locket. Kreacher attacked Mundungus Fletcher and took the locket. Then Kreacher hid it, like Master said he should."

"What is he talking about, Harry?" Ron asked. "What locket?"

Harry didn't answer. He wasn't sure whether it was a good thing that Kreacher had lied. When the Death Eaters were to find Fletcher, they would surely know. Voldemort would find out. And then Ron and Hermoine would pay the price. But at the same time, he felt a spark rise up in his chest. This locket was important to Voldemort. He didn't know why, but somehow he knew it was a chance to circumvent Voldemort.

"Kreacher, do you think you can find Mundungus Fletcher again? Can you erase his memory of the locket? Do you think you are able to convince him to hide?"

Kreacher merely looked at Harry. "Hide the traitorous thief?"

"Yes. You told Voldemort that Fletcher has it. He will find out that you lied when they catch him. He must hide. Tell him that they are searching for him, that they are coming for him. Can you do that?"

"Kreacher will obey Master, because he has no choice," rasped Kreacher and gave a stiffened bow. "But Kreacher does not care for the thief."

"You don't have to," said Harry, a little impatiently. "Just make sure the Death Eaters or Voldemort are able to find him. It is important."

Kreacher nodded his flappy ears, gave another bow and disappeared with a loud crack. Harry turned to Ron and Hermoine, who were both looking back with dumbstruck expressions on their faces.

"What the hell was that all about?" asked Ron again. "Why are the Death Eaters after Mundungus? And what locket are you talking about?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. "I don't even know what the locket looks like. But Voldemort wants it back. Apparently, Sirius' brother stole it from him. I want to know why this locket is so important to Voldemort."

But then something hit Harry. He had been inside Voldemort's mind. Voldemort had called the locket a Horcrux. He had called him, Harry, a Horcrux too, back in his mansion. He turned to Hermoine.

"Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

She gaped at him. To Harry's disappointment, she then shook her head. "I have never heard of that. I will look it up. Why?"

"What are you talking about, Harry?" interjected Ron. Harry felt slightly annoyed with the look on Ron's face.

"I'm not losing it," he said. "It is something Voldemort calls that locket. It is something he called me."

But the look on Ron's face, a mixture of worry, confusing and slight contempt, did not disappear. Harry felt too tired to explain any further. Suddenly, Hermoine jumped and squinted to the corner next to Harry. Both Ron and Harry startled and wheeled around. Harry heard something slither along the wall and saw the vague contours of something huge.

"Is that a snake?" squeaked Hermoine, grabbing Harry's arm.

"Yeah, that's Nagini! Voldemort's snake."

"Come on, let's get out of here," Ron mumbled. He was still shaking, still looking a little green and he seemed like he could pass out any minute. They went up the stairs and staggered through the corridor, supporting each other, pausing every now and then to prevent themselves from falling.

"I could sleep for a week," panted Ron, when they reached the entrance hall.

"Oh, I don't want us to separate now," breathed Hermoine. "I don't want to be on my own."

"Yeah, and I don't feel like sharing the same bedroom with Malfoy while being this sick," agreed Ron. He dragged himself towards the stairs.

"Or ever," added Harry in. "Shouldn't we go to Hagrid's?"

"Let's go back to the Hospital Wing," answered Ron. "We'll go to Hagrid tomorrow."

Hermoine agreed. Together, they climbed up the stairs and entered the infirmary. Harry let himself fall down to the bed, without taking off his robes and pulled the sheets up. Ron and Hermoine chose the beds next to him.

"You know, it was really weird," said Ron after a while. "You and him, hissing to each other."

Harry looked up to the ceiling. He could only imagine how it must have been like. "Voldemort wanted me to speak in Parseltongue. He said the others didn't need to know. So apparently, this locket is some sort of secret. Something so valuable, that he doesn't want to share... We can use that."

"Use it how?" Hermoine asked. "For what?"

Harry didn't answer. Images of the dungeon raced through his head, as though he was watching a film. Hermoine and Ron screaming, Voldemort standing before him, demanding him to tell him about Grimmauld Place. Harry fought down the urge to get sick.

"I accidentally told Voldemort that Sirius' home is the headquarters," he whispered. "He knows. He –" but then Harry remembered. He had not exactly said what the address was. Voldemort had wanted him to summon Kreacher first. In his rage, he probably had forgotten to ask for the address. Another spark lit up in Harry. Maybe there was still a chance.

"Nobody blames you, Harry," whispered Hermoine sympathetically. "I don't think either of us could think straight when…" Her voice trailed off.

"I didn't tell him where it is, though," continued Harry. He felt a tiny wave of gratitude towards Hermoine; it helped relieve the tight feeling of guilt in his chest. "He wanted me to summon Kreacher first."

"So what are we going to do now?" Ron asked eagerly. "Try and go to Grimmauld Place?"

"For now, we're going to keep our heads down and do nothing," Harry said, turning to the slightly disappointed Ron. "Not yet anyway. Listen, we have got to form a plan. We're going to try and free the others first."

"Harry is right, Ron," said Hermoine. "We can't just act without a plan. We have to think this one through."

"But –"

"Ron, what if we act and fail? We must think of a plan first. It is our only chance." Hermoine shifted in her bed.

"Yeah, but what if we stay here and get interrogated again?" pressed Ron. "What if he's coming back for another round?"

"That's true," said Harry slowly.

"What if Mundungus isn't able to hide himself?" continued Ron, without listening to Harry. "What if the Death Eaters were to find him? Then You-Know-Who knows he has been lied to... I really don't feel like going back to the dungeons, to tell you the truth."

"How do you think of escaping then?" Hermoine asked. "Use the Floo Network?"

"Nah..." said Ron slowly. "Dad said they don't trust the Floo Network anymore. Before the raid at the Ministry, they suspected that Death Eaters might had already infiltrated the place. So the Order avoided the Floo Network. And now that the Ministry has fallen, they'll definitely know."

"So, we will have to fly," Harry said. "We could use our brooms and fly to London."

"How do you want to do that without being seen?" Hermoine asked skeptically.

"We will go by night, take of in the Forest-"

"We can't use the air, mate. They have placed an anti-escape jinx around the premises. I heard Snape tell Carrow, back when I was... well, when I was in the Great Hall this morning," said Ron. "They have placed in in the air around Hogwarts, so no one can fly or run out."

"But that means we can't escape within the walls as well?"

"No, it only works outside. When you try to go through the gates."

They said nothing for a while. Harry heard the soft breath of Hermoine. His eyelids felt heavy. He wanted nothing more than a long sleep. How were they going to escape? When Mr. Weasley had been attacked by Voldemort's snake, they had been able to come to Grimmauld Place, too. Then Harry remembered. "Can't we use a Portkey?" he asked, sitting up right in the bed.

Ron shook his head. "They will know. Every Portkey gets immediately registered with the Ministry. When they receive notice of an unauthorized Portkey, they will come to our place of destination."

"Yeah, but Grimmauld Place is secure. They will not be able to enter, right?"

"I don't know if it will work... We can't risk it without being absolutely sure," said Hermoine slowly. She was still clutching her waist and she looked slightly distorted when she shifted again.

"In short, we are hopeless," said Harry bitterly. His fingers fiddled with his sheets. Of course, Voldemort would not leave him alone to rest, not without being absolutely sure that Harry wasn't able to escape.

"If only we could Apparate," sighed Ron, who leaned back into his pillows.

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate in and out Hogwarts!" hissed Hermoine. "Pick up _Hogwarts, A_ History one time, will you?"

"Why bother? You know it by heart," yawned Ron. Harry didn't intervene their bickering. Absentmindedly, he watched the setting sun through the window. His scar was still prickling, but it wasn't as bad as before anymore.

"Let's go to sleep for a while. I think we're safe here for now. Let's get our strength back and come up with a plan tomorrow."

Ron answered him by snoring softly. Harry looked to Hermoine, who lay on her side. She smiled softly to Harry and closed her eyes as well. "Night."

"Night," whispered Harry and let himself fall. He was already fast asleep by the time his head reached his pillow.

* * *

 **Note:**

First of all: Happy New Year! Thank you for favoring and following this story. And for the reviews, of course. Always happy to receive them! On a depressing note, I have exams coming up and I am really running behind my school work, so I will not be able to post another chapter in the upcoming month.

Hopefully, the length of this chapter is enough to saturate you for four weeks. I might have gone a little too far with this one. Don't worry though: I intend for it to get a little more lighter. When the exams are over, I will update as soon as I can (which will sadly be after the third of February).

P.S. Please, don't mind the grammar errors (or maybe even unfinished sentences). I will fix the mistakes when I get the chance to reread this chapter.


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